All The King's Horses And All The King's Men
by QueenMegaera
Summary: "Rumours" part II. (Slowly being edited) King Arthur and Queen Guinevere are loved by the people, The Knights of The Round Table are becoming legends, and the king's manservant is stumbling his way through Camelot as always. The King is on his throne and all is well. Until the rumours start ... (A/M)
1. Introduction

**Warnings:** Will contain angst, slash, some violence and slight dub-con. If any of this offends you, don't read.  
><strong>Pairings:<strong> Arthur/Gwen, Lancelot/Gwen, Arthur/Merlin. And general bromance between the knights.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Everything up to and including Series 3. Our story begins at the end of that series.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> **No lyrics belong to me. BBC's Merlin belongs to Auntie Beeb. ***Duh!* I make no profit.

**Summary:** Uther Pendragon is dead. King Arthur has made a reputation for himself as a fair and good king, the kind and beautiful Queen Guinevere is loved by the people, the Knights of The Round Table are revered in all the lands, and the king's clumsy manservant stumbles his way through Camelot as he always has. The King is on his throne and all is right in the world.

Until the rumours start. Rumours that Morgana and her sister are returning, rumours that the Queen is not so faithful to her husband as it would seem, and rumours that the King might have secrets of his own. At first it's nothing more than misunderstandings and gossiping maidservants, but everything is about to change - because Morgana has found out a different secret entirely.

**A/N:** This story is in progress of being beta-read and edited, thanks to my new beta **Avi8**. In this process a few of the shortest chapters have disappeared (i.e. been included in other ones). To keep the reviews linked to the correct chapter, however, I've left those chapters blank instead of decreasing the number of chapters. Unfortunately, this chapter is one of them. _So to begin the story, you have to skip to the next chapter._


	2. Prologue The Past Is Now Dead and Buried

"_All the king's horses and all the king's men  
>couldn't put baby together again"<em>

_- _Aimee Mann,_ Humpty Dumpty_

IYîYîYîYI

**The Past Is Now Dead and Buried**

"_It's over Morgana."_

"_No, you're wrong. This has just begun."_

The pain. The inhuman shriek tearing through her body – not a spell, but raw magic. She allowed it to possess her, to make her stronger, to tear down the walls around her. She allowed it to carry her away. When she hit the ground again with her sister in her arms, she didn't know where they were, and she didn't know if Morgause was alive. All she knew was that Merlin, that boy, Arthur's servant boy, had managed to crush her twice in that hall – the first time when she had been terrified and alone and hadn't known if the horrible things happening around her were her fault, and then again this time when she had been absolutely aware that the horrible things happening around her were her fault, but hadn't been terrified, or felt guilty, because for the first time in so long, she hadn't been alone. She'd had Morgause. She'd had a sister, and now that sister had nearly been taken away from her. Nearly – there was still a heartbeat, faint but steady underneath her fingertips.

IYîYîYîYI

It took all her strength and all her contacts – or Morgause's contacts – to bring her sister back to health, and even then Morgause had pains and aches that no magic seemed to cure. She'd been hit by a spell, the people they saw could tell Morgana that much, a spell that had sent her crashing into the wall or the floor and given her physical damage, but the spell itself had damaged her too and that was what turned out to be so hard to cure. Every sorcerer or sorceress they visited asked Morgana if she had heard which spell had done this, and when she said no, they only shook their heads. Morgana wondered who had cast it. Gaius had been in that room, and she knew he'd been involved in magic when he was younger, but was he really powerful enough to do this? He must have caught Morgause completely off guard. Of course, that wouldn't have been hard, since Morgause had probably considered him absolutely harmless. Morgana surely had.

IYîYîYîYI

It was on her various pilgrimages to find help for her sister that she heard of Uther's death. She had barely thought about the passing of time, but they told her it had been a full year since she and Morgause had been driven out of Camelot. They told her Uther had never recovered, that he had been a broken man, and it soothed her somewhat to hear it. They told her Arthur had spent the year leading up to Uther's death not only taking charge of Camelot but also looking for cures for his father, _their_ father, the same way she was doing for Morgause – although from completely different sources – and it made bile rise in her throat. That fool, how could he waste his love and care on a man like that? How could he forgive Uther? How could he be her _brother_? They told her Arthur was still looking for_ her_, too, but she refused to think about that. They told her Uther had passed away quietly in his sleep, and it was a far better death than he deserved, but she was still glad. They told her long, embellished stories about the funeral: Uther's coffin had been carried through the town between rows upon rows of black-clad citizens, and the knights of Camelot had stood guard around the building were the crypt was all day and all night for seven days, telling everyone who passed by about the tragic death of the King. Morgana could just picture it. So much fuss for that lying old hypocrite – it made her sick. They told her of Arthur's coronation that had taken place when the seven days of mourning had ended: the celebrations only lasted for three days, but the people's devotion and enthusiasm during those days far outweighed the half hearted mourning that had come before it, they said. She had no trouble believing that. They told her that he was going to marry Gwen, and she laughed. Gwen, little Gwen, who had been her maidservant since she could carry a tray_. And I loved her,_ Morgana thought_. She spent her days in my rooms, she wore my old dresses, she ate of my food and she slept in my bed. For years, I thought nothing could come between us. And then Arthur smiles at her sideways and she throws it all out of the window. Keeping secrets from me, lying to me, stabbing me in the back._ It was hard to point out the exact moment when she had seen it in Gwen's eyes, when she had noticed that the girl's loyalties had shifted. But it had hurt. And then to add insult to injury there was that pathetic little act Gwen had put on during Morgana's short reign, pretending that their friendship was as solid as ever when it was clear that she didn't have a morsel of honest fondness for Morgana anymore. So she was to be married to Arthur now. Morgana had every reason to laugh at that. She had seen the way Gwen had been mooning over Lancelot. She had heard the sound of Gwen's voice when she talked about the knight. That girl didn't love Arthur. _You used to fuss over me when you brushed my hair, and ramble on about the day when I would be Queen of Camelot, Arthur's queen, like everyone thought I'd be. Ever since you were really just a child, it would make your eyes glow to talk about it. You couldn't wait, couldn't wait to see me there, to be there by my side. I guess you decided you could do even better. Poor old Lancelot_.

_And poor me_, a tiny voice at the back of her head supplied, but she quenched it. She wasn't the one who would be sorry in the end. They'd see.

IYîYîYîYI

Finally, on one of her travels, she found Mordred again. She nearly began to cry when he ran into her arms. She didn't want to let go. She introduced him to Morgause, and she told him of everything that had happened since their roads had parted. She told him about the mysterious spell. She told him about how they had left Merlin in chains in the middle of the woods and how baffled they had been at his return.

Mordred looked at her and said:

"I thought you knew."

IYîYîYîYI

In a little village on the edge of the kingdom, they heard about the girl.

The way the tale went, little Mim had begun to show signs of magic when she was only four years old. A frightened horse had careered straight towards her, and as her mother had not been close enough to do anything but scream in horror, the little girl had covered her eyes – and the horse had crashed to the ground with an unnatural screech that not one of the villagers had ever been able to forget. When they had walked up to the girl and the animal, they had seen that the guts of the horse had been torn open as if it had been attacked by a vicious beast. Since that time, no one in the village let any animal come near the girl.

The girl was a few years older now. When Morgana and Morgause found her she sat alone in a back yard, shunned, playing with pine cones that she would magically set aflame. They talked to the girl's mother, asked about her. The woman was clearly afraid of her own child.

They left that night, taking the girl with them. She jumped along between the sisters as they disappeared into the mists of the woods, not even looking back. There probably wasn't much for her to miss in that place anymore. Morgana knew how that felt.


	3. The King and the Manservant

"_Will you see me in the end?  
>Or is it just a waste of time<br>Trying to be your friend?"_

_- _Keane,_ Hamburg Song_

IYîYîYîYI

**The King and the Manservant**

The wedding between King Arthur and Queen Guinevere had caused a celebration to rival that of the crowning a few months earlier. Some of the noblemen of the realm might have turned up their noses at a servant queen when the King wasn't present, but the knights of Camelot adored her and the people welcomed her to the throne with cheers and tears of joy. Merlin was there too of course, smiling at the sight of his friends' happy faces, cursing Arthur for spilling wine all over a shirt that Merlin would no doubt be told off for not being able to get clean later, and generally having a good time at the festivities. People had wondered at the speed of the wedding plans and some had asked Merlin about it. Of course, Merlin knew – from Gwen, mind you, not from Arthur, though Arthur had confirmed it – that the pair had been secretly engaged a good while before Uther's death. Arthur's mourning had been genuine, which was more than could be said for a lot of the members of the court, but the joy of being able to marry Gwen at last had probably made it pass quicker. The days before the wedding Arthur's face had been shining like the sun. And a good long while after the wedding as well, but Merlin wasn't going to say that out loud.

It wasn't until Arthur brought it up that Merlin thought about this marriage actually having some effect on the nature of his own employment. Arthur and Gwen were moving into the larger chambers that Uther had lived in, Gwen was getting her own maidservant (much against her own protests) and there would be other servants as well – there was no longer any need for Merlin to go fetch breakfast, lunch and dinner, or do the laundry or the cleaning, and really this should all have changed when Arthur became King, but everything had been a bit chaotic for a while ... Merlin stood still close to the doorway in Arthur's chambers the day before the wedding as Arthur told him all these things, stopping every now and then to give instructions to the servants that were running back and forth moving his things. Merlin felt fear grip his heart for a second as he wondered if this was Arthur sacking him.

"... and then of course – _Mer_lin, are you even listening to me!?"

"What?" Merlin shook himself. "Yes, of course!"

"_Really?_ What was I saying then?"

"Ehm ..." Merlin was at a loss. "How you'll be happy to get rid of me?"

"Yeah, that'll be the day," Arthur muttered. "No you _idiot,_ I was _saying_, you're not going to have to do all the dirty work anymore, which _means_ I'll have to find new ways of torturing you, and you'll be getting a lot more responsibility in this castle, which means your slip-ups will cause double the mess they used to, God help us."

So suddenly Merlin learnt the difference between being the Prince's manservant and being the King's manservant wasn't only a matter of titles as he'd thought. No more mucking out the stables (although he had been told by Gaius early on that that was never a manservant's chore to start with, that was just Arthur being Arthur) and no more fixing holes in boots. He was now sitting in on important meetings, standing behind Arthur's shoulder, reporting to him which foreign king had been seen talking to whom beforehand, discussing policies and treaties with Arthur pacing around his new chambers in the evenings (they were big and grand but seemed colder than the old ones somehow). Gwen would sit by her table and smile at him, as if they were sharing a secret, when Arthur would fume about that king or the other being unreasonable. Merlin was still the one to help Arthur with his armour, but he dressed himself now, probably because he didn't want Gwen to see him getting dressed by someone else like a big child – or maybe Gwen dressed him, Merlin didn't really know. He tried to avoid entering the chambers too early in the mornings or too late at night. That would just be awkward. He was still the one who served Arthur wine during feasts and banquets, and he tasted all the king's food and drink for poison. The latter brought back bad memories, but Gaius had told him that it was a manservant's duty simply because if someone else did it, the manservant would still have the chance to poison it later. Merlin protested the ridiculousness of the idea that he'd poison Arthur, but Gaius simply raised an eyebrow at him and said that was the way it had been for generations, regardless of any manservant's personal relationship with their King. Merlin stopped arguing.

Gaius was ageing rapidly now, and had a new apprentice from the lower town training to take over as court physician when he couldn't do it anymore. When it had become clear that Gaius would have to hand his profession over relatively soon, Arthur had asked Merlin if he wanted to be Gaius' apprentice and train to become the court physician for real rather than continue on as Arthur's manservant and hand over his room in the old man's quarters to someone else. Merlin had felt like a traitor the day he moved his admittedly few belongings out of the room, all under Gaius' watchful eye. But Gaius understood – Gaius _knew_. Once, Merlin had told him that he felt like he was pulled in so many directions he didn't know where to turn. That wasn't true anymore. He turned towards Arthur, he always turned towards Arthur, and one by one the other things that had pulled on him weakened and faded away. The Dragon had flown, Uther was gone, Gaius got his help from someone else. All that was left was Arthur. Arthur – and the Secret.

Merlin had watched the festivities at Arthur's coronation torn between happiness and sadness. He had pictured that day so many times since he moved to Camelot. But the first couple of years, those daydreams had included getting to throw away pretences and reveal his secret. He was no longer that naive. Change had come to Camelot, but Merlin's life went on as usual: stumbling and stuttering in front of amused knights and servants, and saving Arthur's life when no one was looking.

It had been going on so long now, this lying and deceiving, that Merlin hardly ever thought of it as lying anymore. Rather it seemed as if there were two different realities that coexisted, two circles that overlapped, and that small place that was within both circles was Merlin. It wasn't hard to act shocked when a sword had flown out of nowhere slaying a robber in the forest, or when a raging fire in the castle had died down for no apparent reason – it almost felt as if it had been somebody else's doing. Merlin the Sorcerer and Merlin the Manservant were becoming two separate entities, and Merlin – Merlin the peasant boy, Merlin friend of Arthur and Gwen, Merlin son of Hunith – was shoved aside, his pains and fears too difficult to deal with. He didn't have time to be that person now, that person who both had magic and served a king who forbade it.

The first year of Arthur's reign passed without any great magical threats. Almost as if by magic, Merlin thought, and would have laughed, except it wasn't really the least bit funny, it was just the truth. From his place behind the King's right shoulder he could wipe out a lot of threats before anyone else even noticed them. Among the ones that were nevertheless noticed, there was the odd magical creature – a new griffin, among other things – but never a sorcerer or sorceress to bring up the question of the laws against the use of magic. At least Arthur wasn't as paranoid about magic as Uther had been. It wasn't the first explanation for everything that went wrong, the first accusing word to come out of his mouth when stressed. For this Merlin found he was deeply and unendingly grateful. It was almost enough.


	4. The Round Table

"_It's human sign  
>when things go wrong<br>When the scent of her lingers  
>in temptation strong<br>Into the boundaries  
>of each married man<br>Sweet deceit comes rolling  
>and negativity lands"<em>

_- _Elton John,_ Sacrifice_

IYîYîYîYI

**The Round Table**

Everything had been going so well. The new king was happy. The new queen was happy. The people of Camelot loved them both. The knights of Camelot, or, as they were rapidly becoming known after Arthur had introduced a new piece of furniture into the castle, The Knights of The Round Table, loved them both. And that, of course, was the problem.

Uther hadn't taken kindly to Arthur's new knights, but this time, Arthur had refused to back down. Even before Uther's death, the first rule of Camelot was changed. Sir Elyan, Sir Gwaine, Sir Percival and Sir Lancelot were welcomed into the close brotherhood of the knights of Camelot, under Sir Leon's watchful eye. The towering Percival was welcomed by the older knights with as much gratefulness as if he had been two knights, which, in body size, he nearly was. Gwaine's fighting was marvelled at and imitated. But no one could match Lancelot. No one fought like him, no one had his gracefulness, his kindness and his unassuming but impeccable manners, no one was as loyal and no one was in the new King's good graces like Lancelot. They were often seen sparring together, laughing together, or discussing pivotal country matters together. Leon told Merlin it was like seeing Arthur find a brother.

The Round Table had been set up in the council chambers. Arthur still trained with the knights, but not as often as before now that he had an entire kingdom to run. Instead, he held daily meetings around the table. Guinevere would sit at his left hand side, Merlin at his right hand side, and Sir Leon, who was now officially in charge of the knights, would be there along with Gwaine and Lancelot. Gaius had leave to join them only we he felt he had the time and energy, or when his unique knowledge was needed. The trusted old court chronicler would be there when there was call for it, which to start with was quite often, and he would throw suspicious glances at Merlin. Occasionally Elyan and Percival were there. This was Arthur's council. These were the people he trusted more than anyone else in Camelot.

These meetings still made Merlin feel awkward. He was content leaning back, leaving the political choices to the great men around him, but every so often every single pair of eyes around the table would turn to look at him. Gwaine and Guinevere, his friends, would turn to him expecting sound, grounded advice. Gaius and Lancelot, the keepers of his secret, would turn to him expecting pre-knowledge or hidden magical solutions. And Arthur, his dear, royal prat,_ King Arthur_, would turn to him expecting ... what? Wisdom? When Arthur looked at him, none of Merlin's answers felt adequate. His plans and ideas felt like patched-up guesswork, as often they were. Often Arthur would criticise his input mercilessly, but as often he would accept it without question, making Merlin nervously go through everything he had said with even harsher eyes than Arthur's to see that it was sound and would not put anyone in unnecessary danger.

It was awkward, as well, to watch the silent drama of exchanged looks and glances that took place at the round table. Merlin didn't know if anyone else noticed. The chronicler certainly didn't, perpetually clueless as he was, but Merlin knew Gaius could see it when he wanted to, and he thought Gwaine had an eye for this kind of thing as well. It was discreet, Merlin had to give them that. The absolute loyalty and intense admiration Lancelot held for Arthur was there for everyone to see, but the love he held for Gwen was there as well if you knew what you were looking for. Lancelot would rarely look directly at Gwen, at the round table or anywhere else, it was just that when he did, he seemed to have difficulties looking away again. Once, when everyone had been very tired and Gwen had been wearing a particularly stunning white dress, Merlin had had to kick at Lancelot's feet under the table to make him stop. That time he was sure Arthur had noticed. Lancelot was obviously bothered by the thing, trying to fight it. Merlin did not doubt Gwen was trying to fight it too. But Merlin could see she was failing. She would look at Lancelot as soon as she wasn't looking at Arthur, she would be visibly distressed when he didn't return her glances – and often when he did as well. Merlin didn't think Arthur was clueless. When Gwen and Lancelot looked at each other, Arthur's gaze would go blank, as if he was looking at something far in the distance. When the knights were discussing amongst themselves, Merlin would sometimes catch him staring at Lancelot with a forlorn expression on his face. But when Gwen looked at him, a tiny smile would pull at Arthur's lips and there would be so much love in his eyes that Merlin's guts would twist with the cruel certainty that this was never going to end well.


	5. Whispers behind Closed Doors

"_All of these words whispered in my ear  
>Tell a story that I cannot bear to hear"<em>

_- _Adele,_ Rumour Has It_

IYîYîYîYI

**Whispers behind Closed Doors**

Arthur and Merlin were walking through the corridors of Camelot, Arthur was telling Merlin about the things he needed Merlin to do for him this day and Merlin was about to ask him in some witty phrasing if all that really was part of his duties (which he suspected it definitely wasn't), when Sir Leon appeared out of the blue, looking distressed.

"Leon?" Arthur asked. "What's the matter? Is there any news?" He didn't need to specify about what.

"No, no ... still no sight of her. My Lord, can I talk to you in confidence?"

"Of course!"

Leon looked around. "Maybe somewhere where people aren't as likely to walk by?"

Merlin led them to an unused room nearby, and made to leave when Arthur asked him to stay. "If that's alright with you, Sir Leon?" Leon nodded. Merlin closed the door behind the three of them.

"Sire, I'm not entirely sure how to say this." He held a gauntlet in his hand and was turning it over and over. Arthur grinned.

"You're not going to challenge me, are you?"

"What? No, why ..." Leon looked at the gauntlet as if he hadn't seen it before. "Oh. No, it isn't, no, I just happened to have ... I ..." he trailed off.

"It's alright," said Arthur, crossing his arms and looking like he was beginning to think it really wasn't. "Take your time."

"Sire, I do not want you to believe that I am making any accusations, nor that this is something that is being discussed among the knights ... it concerns the Queen."

Arthur paled. "Is she alright? Has something happened?"

"No. No, I'm sure it hasn't. But that is the problem sire, that there are those who think it has."

"I don't follow you."

Merlin did.

"I overheard one of the knights," Leon began, "saying how fond the Queen seems to be of Sir Lancelot."

Arthur looked at Leon. Then he looked out the window. Leon waited, starting once again to turn the gauntlet over and over.

"So?" said Arthur after a while. "She_ is_ fond of him. They are good friends."

"I believe the knight hinted at something more than that, sire."

"I'm sure he did, but it's not true!"

"I know, I don't believe it to be true either, sire, but they are very ... close, and if the knights start talking it will only be a matter of time before the people start seeing it as well."

"I didn't know our knights were so prone to gossip."

"They aren't, usually, but Sir William is really just a boy. The older knights told him off quite harshly, so I don't think he will say anything about it again. But if it does become a rumour, it will be a serious problem, sire."

"Why!?" Arthur was losing his temper now. "It's a false rumour, it will die out! If the people of Camelot find it entertaining to go around spreading lies, then _that_ is a problem."

"Sire, I say again, I do not make any accusations. And I cannot say how sorry I am to have to bring this up at all. But a queen's infidelity is considered high treason. If the people thought that the Queen herself was betraying you ... and if you took no action, you would look either foolishly oblivious or foolishly lenient. In either case, it would make you look bad, look weak, to the people and above all to foreign powers."

"Take action?" There was ice in the Kings voice. "You mean execute her? Or kill Lancelot?"

Leon sighed heavily. "I know you would never do that, sire. And I would not want you to. That is why I come to you now, before the problem is a fact. To implore you to keep them as far apart as possible, so that there will be nothing to talk about."

"And you don't think, that if I sent Lancelot away to some distant outpost or had Guinevere sit in a tower somewhere, that that would make people talk!? And how could I do that? How could I run Camelot without either of them?"

Leon was silent. Arthur leant against the wall and hid his face in his hands. Leon looked at Merlin, pleadingly. But Merlin didn't know what to say. "You still have me" simply wouldn't cut it anymore. Instead he said:

"Leon's just looking out for you, Arthur. For all of you."

Arthur stood up and glared at him. "I know that, _Mer_lin. Thank you, Sir Leon. Your loyalty and your discretion are most appreciated."

Leon took that as his cue to leave and said goodbye to them. Merlin closed the door behind him and looked at Arthur. The King's gaze had lost itself in the distance again. It was going to be a long day.


	6. -

**A/N: **_This chapter was removed and/or worked into another chapter during the re-editing, but has been kept (rather than deleted) so that the reviews of the following chapters will correspond to the correct chapter._


	7. Secrets and Magic

"_And what can I tell you, my brother, my killer?  
>What can I possibly say?"<em>

_- _Leonard Cohen,_ Famous Blue Raincoat_

IYîYîYîYI

**Secrets and Magic**

Later that day Merlin and Arthur were alone again, Arthur looking over some reconstruction plans for the eastern wing of the castle and Merlin supposedly providing a second opinion. It wasn't really very important, so Merlin dared to bring up a more personal subject. "So," he said, "have you thought about what Leon said?"

"I don't_ want_ to think about it Merlin," Arthur replied without looking up from the papers. "Leave it alone."

"But you _are_ thinking about it!" Merlin insisted. Arthur looked up.

"You never cease to amaze me, Merlin. I never knew you could read minds!"

"Very funny!"

"What do you want me to say, Merlin?" Arthur turned his hands up in defeat. "You heard my answer to Leon. There's nothing I can do. I know that Lancelot loves Guinevere. I also know he is the most honourable man I have ever met and would never go behind my back. So it doesn't matter how much Guinevere cares for him, even if she cares more for him than for me ..."

"No!"

"... because they are both better than that."

"You really think Gwen cares more for Lancelot than for you?"

"I told you to leave it, Merlin, didn't I?" Arthur picked up his papers again.

"She loves you!"

"I know she does."

Merlin watched Arthur as he bent over the plans and lists spread out on the table as if they were maps of enemy armies and not boring details about bricks and mortar. He kept quiet. After a couple of minutes Arthur looked up at him again.

"Merlin?"

"Yes?"

"Is something troubling you?"

Merlin stared wide eyed at him. This was an unexpected turn in the conversation.

"Is something troubling_ me_? I'm worried about you being troubled!"

"It's not about this. It's ... you've just been ... you've been this way since before Leon started talking about rumours and high treason. You're so ... quiet, these days."

Merlin shook his head.

"I think you must have too much wax in your ears, Arthur. I talk all the time."

"You talk more than most people, that's for sure! I just ..." Arthur studied him for a while. "You don't smile as often anymore," he said quietly.

Merlin couldn't understand why his chest suddenly tightened.

IYîYîYîYI

The next day, Arthur asked Merlin to invite Lancelot for a private council. Merlin decided this meant he could invite himself as well. It usually did (even some of the times when Arthur insisted it didn't). Even so, he did try to make his presence less obtrusive by silently cleaning and sorting through papers in a corner. When Lancelot entered the room, Merlin could see Arthur's face light up. It only lasted for a split second.

"Lancelot."

"Sire."

"Please, Lancelot, in here it's Arthur."

"If you say so."

"I do. Sit down."

The two sat down at the table that had been in Arthur's old chambers. As Lancelot pulled the chair closer to the table he noticed Merlin. He nodded to him. Merlin returned the gesture with a slight smile. Arthur squirmed slightly in his seat.

"Lancelot. There's no real good way of saying this, so I'll just ... I'll just say it. Leon came to me yesterday. He was worried that there might soon be rumours going around about you and Gwen."

Lancelot stared at the King.

"Sire?"

"Don't play coy with me Lancelot, you know what he meant."

Lancelot stood up. The chair screeched against the floor.

"Sire, I would swear to you on my parents' grave that neither I nor Guinevere would ever ..."

"... do anything like that, but you don't need to swear it because you know that I already know it. I know it, Lancelot. But you don't need to be having an actual affair for there to be rumours. Oh, don't look so offended, man! You're just not very good at hiding that you love each other."

"Sire ..."

"No," Arthur interrupted again. He got up and walked over to the window, looking out as he continued: "Don't try to deny it, Lancelot. Not to me. I will not have lies and secrets in my court. Look where it took my father and Morgana. Lies and secrets and magic. Spreading through the court like poison. It's the one thing I won't stand."

Lancelot looked at Merlin. The pity was so clearly visible in his face that Merlin had to look down. He couldn't understand why there was suddenly a lump in his throat and something burning under his eyelids. Arthur stood with his back to both of them, oblivious.

"I won't have secrets between us. So I won't say that it doesn't kill me, the feeling that maybe one day, if I prove myself unworthy I will lose her to you. But at least I will have lost her to a good man." Merlin could hear that the King was close to tears himself, if he wasn't already crying. "You just need to know that if that day comes neither of you can ever return to Camelot."

"My Lord," said Lancelot, slowly and steadily, "It is true that I love Guinevere. But sire, I would rather tear my own heart out of my chest than ever betray you or Camelot."

Arthur turned down his head. He wasn't even shaking, but Merlin was sure he was crying now. The three of them standing in the room, no one able to look the others in the eye, each man miserable for his own reasons. They were so pitiful that if it wasn't for the tears threatening to fall down his own cheeks Merlin would have laughed.

"You can go now," Arthur said, and Lancelot left the room quietly.


	8. Out of the Woods

"_Tough, you think you've got the stuff  
>You're telling me and anyone<br>You're hard enough_

_You don't have to put up a fight  
>You don't have to always be right<br>Let me take some of the punches  
>For you tonight<em>

_Listen to me now  
>I need to let you know<br>You don't have to go it alone"_

- U2,_ Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own_

IYîYîYîYI

**Out of the Woods**

Two knights had been sent to investigate rumours of a band of robbers attacking travellers in the woods near the northern villages. It wasn't considered a particularly dangerous mission – there might be a fight, but unless the band was considerably larger than reported the knights should be at a clear advantage. So when only one of them returned, bruised and bloody, it caused a real commotion. The courtyard filled up with curious civilians and concerned knights. Once in the safety of Camelot, the wounded knight lost consciousness and began to slip off the horse's back. Sir Percival was just in time to catch him and carry him off to Gaius' quarters. Arthur and Merlin went together to visit him.

"How is he Gaius?" Arthur asked as soon as he burst through the doors.

"Alive," answered Gaius, walking between his table of books and potions and his patient. "Though that is about as much as I can say, I'm afraid. He has taken a rather nasty hit to the head."

"Do you think he will wake up soon?"

"Well, it's hard to say when, sire, but certainly not today."

"Dammit." Arthur sat down. Merlin remained in the doorway, eyeing the young woman who was sat in a corner concentrating fully on a book of healing potions. It was hard to think that had been him, not so long ago. Or, he guessed it hadn't really. He would have looked in an entirely different book.

"What do you think did this to him, Gaius? There were only supposed to be a handful of robbers out there, four, maybe five. How could they do this to a knight of Camelot?"

"From his wounds I'd almost say he'd been knocked over by a small bear. See these marks on his face? They could be marks of claws. But I guess it could have been the robbers, too, if they had some sort of large, splintered club or the like, it's too hard to tell. I suppose they must have surprised him, if there weren't indeed more of them than you thought."

"Beasts or robbers. Not magic then?" said Arthur.

"There's nothing to suggest it, sire."

Arthur looked at the knight lying lifeless in the middle of the room.

"Sir Ewan is still out there," he said. "He could be alive. We have to go after him as soon as possible. But if William doesn't wake up we'll have no idea what it is we're facing."

Gaius looked at Merlin. Merlin shrugged.

"We'll just have to bring the best knights we've got, be prepared for anything."

Arthur gave him a look.

"'_We'_, Merlin?"

The woman looked up at them. Merlin tried to look as if nothing unusual was happening. Which it wasn't – this was how they talked. But Merlin had become increasingly aware with every foreign delegation visiting that it wasn't how most kings talked with their menservants.

"I'll be going with you, of course."

"I didn't say _I _was going," Arthur said.

Merlin raised an eyebrow in return.

"I know you think I'm stupid, Arthur, but I'm not_ that_ stupid."

At the sound of the Kings given name, the woman in the corner dropped her book. She immediately dived to pick it up, but managed to knock over a bucket instead, which made a real racket rolling away. "Sorry, I'm so, so sorry!" she blurted as she got up and went after it.

Arthur stood up. "Really, Gaius, you do know how to pick them, don't you?" he said as he picked up the book and gave it to the blushing woman with a disarming smile. "There you go, Miss ...?"

"Emma, my lord," she said, nearly whispering and turning an even brighter shade of red.

"Nice to meet you, Emma. Well Gaius, it seems we're only in your way here. I'd tell you to do your best for him, but I already know you will."

"Of course, sire. Goodbye Merlin."

"See you later, Gaius."

IYîYîYîYI

As they walked back to where the knights had gathered, Merlin brought up an old subject.

"You really shouldn't be doing these things you know. Riding out with the knights, risking your life. The King should stay here in Camelot."

"It was your idea, Merlin."

"It wasn't an idea, it was just a fact. You shouldn't be doing this, but you always do. Especially when we don't know exactly what we're facing. Sometimes ..."

When he didn't finish the sentence Arthur turned to face him.

"Sometimes what?"

"Sometimes you remind me of Uther when Morgana first went missing." Arthur grumbled and turned away. "How every single rumour would make him run and look for her. Or send you, when his health got worse. Are you still expecting her to come back?"

"Of course I am! If she's alive, do you really think she'll just let it rest?"

"It's been almost two years. Maybe hearing about Uther's death was enough for her."

"Maybe. But I wouldn't bet any money on it. The way she was ... it wasn't the Morgana I knew. It was like she was possessed."

Not thinking this was the time to defend magic, Merlin replied: "Maybe she was."

"No." Arthur sighed. "I don't really think she was possessed by anything but rage. She was always disagreeing with him, getting angry. I just didn't notice when it changed into hatred."

Merlin studied Arthur for a while, but his face gave no clues to what he was thinking.

"Do you miss her?" he asked quietly.

"Sometimes."


	9. Messages from Lost Friends

"_Holy water cannot help you now  
>See I've come to burn your kingdom down<br>And no rivers and no lakes, can put the fire out  
>I'm gonna raise the stakes; I'm gonna smoke you out"<em>

- Florence + The Machine,_ Seven Devils_

IYîYîYîYI

**Messages from Lost Friends**

There was a quiet little clearing in the woods. The grass was brushed by a gentle breeze, birds were singing in the distance and the sunlight sifted down through green leaves.

It was absolute carnage. The grass glistened with blood. Merlin counted six lifeless bodies. It was hard to be sure – not all of them were in one piece anymore. The body of Sir Ewan could only be identified thanks to the chainmail and the red cape. Merlin didn't recognise the others, but he had a guess there wouldn't be any more complaints of robbers from this part of the woods. Although whatever had caused this was probably not preferable to a bunch of dirty highwaymen.

"Good God," Arthur whispered. He was still seated on his horse. None of the knights had dismounted either. Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, everyone seemed frozen to the spot. "If Sir William rode away from this alive he is either much braver or much more of a coward than I have given him credit for." A bit louder he added: "We will have to bring Sir Ewan's body back to Camelot. Give him a knight's burial. Check the other bodies, if these are the robbers they might still be carrying the money they've stolen." Percival and Leon got off their horses and walked towards the fallen knight. Arthur dismounted and began to look around. Merlin and the others followed.

"Looks like Gaius was wrong," Arthur said to Merlin. "It wasn't the robbers, 'cause I'm assuming this is them. Ewan and William couldn't have killed all of them, and they definitely wouldn't have done it so ... brutally. It must have been a sorcerer or some magical creature."

"What about a normal animal? There are wolves in these parts."

"No wolf or bear could do this, Merlin! A pack of wolves might be able to wreak this kind of carnage, but they don't attack like that, and not during the middle of the day, _and_, these were armed men, there would be dead wolves lying here too. What could do this, Merlin? Look at Sir Ewan's horse!"

Merlin followed Arthur's glance. What he saw made his stomach turn. He wouldn't even have seen that it had once been a horse if Arthur hadn't pointed it out.

"God, that's disgusting!"

"You look a little pale there, Merlin," said a voice from behind them. "You're not going to faint on us, are you? 'Cause I'm telling you, I'm not picking you up like some damsel in distress!"

"Glad to see you find this amusing, Gwaine" said Arthur, rolling his eyes. Merlin on the other hand swallowed his pride and actually grabbed on to Gwaine. Arthur glared at him, but Gwaine hardly seemed to notice.

"Sorry, Sire. If I'm honest, I can't really bring myself to be upset because I can't believe it's real. I've never seen anything like this. And I've seen some things that have made bigger men than Merlin faint dead."

"I was just saying the same thing."

"Sire!" Lancelot called out and came walking towards them. Merlin quickly straightened up and let go of the arm he'd been holding on to. Gwaine smirked at him.

"What is it?" said Arthur, taking a step towards Lancelot. The knight held out a white envelope.

"It was lying on top of Sir Ewan's body, sire. White as snow, in the middle of all this blood."

Arthur opened it. He turned it around.

"It's empty. Someone's left an empty letter on a dead body in the middle of the woods? What is that, some sort of cruel joke?"

"I have no idea."

Merlin went to stand next to Arthur.

"Can I look at it?"

"Here, look all you want. It's just blank paper."

Merlin reached out and took the envelope. The moment his fingers closed around it, the world went dark and his head was filled with a familiar sound.

_Hello Emrys_. The voice was darker than the last time he'd heard it, but Merlin would recognise it anywhere. _I said I wouldn't forget you, didn't I? I hope you like our friend's work. We will come to see you soon. _

IYîYîYîYI

"Merlin!" Merlin blinked at the sunlight. "Merlin, can you hear me?" The first thing he saw was a pair of wide open blue eyes staring down at him. Arthur. And then he became aware of strong arms holding him up. Gwaine.

"Are you alright?" Gwaine asked. "I was just joking, I didn't think you'd actually faint!"

Merlin tried to squirm out of his grip.

"I'm fine. I'm fine! Don't worry."

"Don't worry?" Arthur scoffed. "You just swooned over a little bit of blood, you girl!"

"Are you sure you're alright, Merlin?" Lancelot asked. Merlin looked at him. He knew the unspoken question: was it magic? Merlin nodded. When he looked around he saw that several of the other knights were looking at him. He felt a blush creep up on his cheeks. He also saw that Leon had his hand on Arthur's shoulder, looking more concerned about the King than the fainting manservant. What was that about?

At the other end of the clearing, a couple of knights went back to turning over the corpse of one of the robbers. For a second, Merlin thought he saw something move underneath it. Then it sprang upon them. It looked like black smoke rushing through the air at first, but quickly turned more solid, taking the shape of a wolf, larger than anything Merlin had ever seen or heard of, with eyes like glowing embers. It flew through the air straight towards Arthur.

"Look out, Sire!" Lancelot yelled and ran out in front of the king drawing his sword. The wolf opened its jaws wide and dived. Merlin sprang into action. Taking the chance that everyone's eyes would be on the creature he muttered a spell. One moment the wolf's jaws closed around Lancelot's shoulder. The next it dissolved into smoke again. From its appearance to its disappearance, there couldn't have been more than ten seconds.

Lancelot fell to his knees clutching his bleeding shoulder. Arthur ran up to him.

"Lancelot! Are you alright?"

Lancelot nodded. "I will be fine."

"You're bleeding quite bad. Here."

Arthur pulled off his cape, gave it to Lancelot and helped him to press it against the wound. Percival joined them and helped Arthur raise Lancelot up again. Arthur turned to look at the other knights.

"What was that thing? Where did it go?"

"No idea," said Gwaine, "but I think we know what happened to these guys."


	10. A Hero's Welcome

_"And there's a memory of a window, looking through I see you  
>Searching for something that I could never give you<br>And there's someone who understands you more than I do  
>A sadness I can't erase  All alone on your face."_

- Third Eye Blind,_ God of Wine_

IYîYîYîYI

**A Hero's Welcome**

Lancelot insisted on riding his own horse back to Camelot, and did so with one arm roughly bandaged and tied_. _Arthur sent him and Elyan on ahead while the rest of them buried the robbers – they were too close to the nearest village to just leave dead bodies on the ground. But Lancelot had to ride so slowly that by the time the others had done their work, rode home and were entering the courtyard, they could see Lancelot and Elyan only just getting off their horses, Elyan helping Lancelot down. And they could all see Queen Guinevere running out of the castle with fear in her eyes, up to Lancelot, giving him a one-sided hug to avoid the wounded arm, kissing him on the cheek, raising a hand to touch his face.

Merlin looked at Arthur. The King's face was expressionless, cold as marble, but his hands were gripping the reins so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. The sound of the horses' hooves on the paving startled Gwen and when she saw them she immediately let go of Lancelot and ran towards her husband without even looking back. But as Arthur jumped down to the ground and embraced her his movements were so slow and awkward, and the knights' faces so serious, that Merlin knew the harm had already been done.

"I was so worried!" Gwen said. "Sir William told me what they had faced and then only two of you were coming back and I saw that Lancelot was hurt and for a while I thought ..."

Arthur interrupted her: "Sir William is awake? And talking?"

Gwen looked a bit taken aback. "Yes. He's still in Gaius' quarters though, Gaius says he should stay there for the night at the very least."

"Then I'm going there. You should probably go with Leon and tell Sir Ewan's parents that he's dead. They will appreciate you being there."

With that Arthur turned and walked towards the castle. Gwen stood frozen to the spot. She looked up at Merlin.

"Merlin, I didn't mean to ..."

"I know. It will be alright Gwen. Just not right now."

"_Merlin!_" Arthur bellowed from the doors.

Merlin felt his feet walking in his direction before his mind even reacted. He turned to Gwen as he walked backwards towards Arthur. He felt like a traitor for being so short with Gwen. He also felt like a traitor for even talking to her in the first place. "Arthur's right, you should go with Leon. Don't worry, it will be fine." He was saying that a lot lately. He hoped he was right. He knew that even if this situation had to come to some sort of end, the chances it would be "fine" for all parties involved were pretty slim.


	11. The Knight's Tale

"_And the battle's just begun  
>There's many lost, but tell me who has won?<br>The trench is dug within our hearts  
>and mothers, children, brothers, sisters<br>torn apart"_

- U2,_ Sunday Bloody Sunday_

IYîYîYîYI

**The Knight's Tale**

When Merlin and Arthur entered Gaius' quarters the old man was already treating Lancelot's shoulder. The words that had been about to come out of Arthur's mouth were stopped short and an uneasy silence fell. Gaius looked around to see who the silent visitors were.

"Sire! Merlin! I assume you're here to see Sir William?"

"Yes." Arthur replied. "Where is he? Can he speak to us?"

"I put him in Merlin's old room. Emma never uses it anyway. He is weak, but he should have enough strength to talk to you for a while. I think you will find his story very interesting."

Gaius gave Merlin a look at the end of that sentence. Arthur turned to walk towards the little door when Lancelot suddenly stood up. "Sire, if you don't mind, I would like to hear what Sir William has to say as well."

Arthur looked at Lancelot in silence. The seconds they stood there felt like minutes to Merlin, he could only imagine how long it must have seemed for the other two. Eventually Arthur just nodded and the three of them entered Merlin's tiny old bedchamber to listen to the wounded knight. Arthur pulled out a stool seemingly from nowhere and silently offered it to Lancelot, before sitting himself down on the bed by Sir William's feet and gestured for Merlin to sit down next to him. But Merlin knew how small and uncomfortable that bed was without having to make room for two more people, so he shook his head and remained standing. Arthur accepted it and turned to the knight.

"How are you Sir William?"

"Better off than Sir Ewan, I'm afraid. Please send his family my regards. He was a good man, and I will miss him."

"So you saw him die then? Are you feeling well enough to tell us what happened? We could come back tomorrow, let you rest."

"No sire, I will be glad to tell you now. I must confess I fear what dreams I might have if I fall asleep."

IYîYîYîYI

"We came to the part of the woods were the robbers had last been seen. It didn't take us long to find their camp. They weren't there, but the fire had only just been put out so we knew they were close. We walked around, leading the horses, trying to be quiet: looking for them. Then we heard someone scream. A woman. Sir Ewan was closer to where it came from, and he swung himself up in the saddle faster than I. When I caught up ... There was a road, a small one, going through the woods. It was foggy. That should have warned us – the rest of the woods hadn't been, you see.

"The robbers were there. There was only five or six of them. They had surrounded a woman and two children. Sir Ewan rode towards them with his sword raised. I was already following him when I recognised the woman. It was the lady Morgana. I don't think Ewan had the time to realise. The children ... one of them was an older boy, almost a man. The other was a little girl. The fog was thicker around her, whirling around her dress, around her arms, like it was coming from her. And then – magic. I could swear it was the girl, the girl alone. The fog ... _gathered._ It shaped itself into animals, into beasts. They attacked the robbers, and us as well. Wolves, bears, lions, creatures I have never seen and creatures I don't think any man has ever seen. Swords went through them like they were smoke, but when they reached you they were solid enough. Some of them were only arms and claws, the rest of them disappearing into smoke. Some – some were only _teeth._

"I saw one of the robbers ripped apart by a bear. I saw the, the _teeth_ tearing the arm off of ... the way the blood still ... It was too horrible to describe, sire. Sir Ewan, he had already got too close. Something that looked like half a lion leaped at him and knocked him off his horse. What it did to him after that – I didn't see much before I was attacked myself, but I saw enough to know he could not possibly be alive anymore."

IYîYîYîYI

"My horse panicked at the sight of all the creatures. I tried to rein it in, but then something attacked me, something that looked like a giant rabid dog, a dog the size of a pony. I tried to escape the teeth, but there were claws, and punches, and then something knocked me on the head. Its paws, maybe. Or another creature. I lost control and my horse fled. And I let it. I just let it run and carry me away from that place, I'm sorry."

Arthur, who had sat entirely still during the knight's story, spoke up.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Sir William."

"I do. I was a coward. I might not have been able to do anything but ... I was so relieved, when I realised the horse had turned us around, that I was leaving. I didn't even think of turning back."

"I don't know that I would have. Not with no one left to save."

Merlin looked at Arthur. He sincerely doubted the truth of that. Arthur would always stay and fight, especially if something had been killing his knights. But that might not have been the most comforting thing to tell Sir William, who was now clearly struggling to stay awake, despite his previous words.

"You've done nothing cowardly. Have some rest."

"'m sorry ... so sorry ..." the wounded knight mumbled, even as his eyes were slowly drifting shut.

Lancelot looked at Arthur.

"It sounds like the thing we met was just the remains of a bigger spell."

"Yes." Arthur looked troubled.

"And it sounds like we finally have news on Morgana," Merlin added.

"How perceptive of you, Merlin" Arthur remarked, but the jibing was lacking something of the usual humour and passion. In fact, it was lacking _all _that could be called humour or passion. "She must have left the empty note too. I wonder what she meant by that."

The king stood up. "We should probably leave him alone. I'll go tell Leon what happened to Sir Ewan." And with that he left.

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin and Lancelot made their way down to Gaius at a calmer pace. Once the King was well out of earshot and they were all seated, Lancelot asked:

"So ... that note? What was it?"

Gaius looked at them.

"What note? Sir William didn't mention a note."

Merlin explained about the bright white letter left on Sir Ewan's body.

"I touched it, and it was like it had been waiting for me. I half-fainted, and then I could hear a message being read to me, as loud and clear as if he had been standing next to me."

"He?" Gaius asked.

"It was Mordred. I'm sure of it. It must have been him Sir William saw with Morgana."

"Who is Mordred?" Lancelot wondered.

Gaius and Merlin first began talking at once, then quickly ran out of words all together as they tried to explain the story of the little druid boy who had turned out to be so very powerful and potentially such a threat to Arthur. Merlin didn't tell where he had got that last bit of information, and although he could see that Lancelot noticed the gap in the story, the knight didn't ask.

"Mordred and Morgana together again," Gaius mused, leaning back in his chair. "That can never be good. And now this new child. By all accounts, she must have quite the power herself."

"Who do you think she is?" Merlin asked, feeling bothered about having a child for an enemy – again. There were few things he wouldn't do to protect Camelot – to protect Arthur – but hurting children was really something he would rather avoid. It was the kind of thing he knew he might be able to find reason to do, but never truly forgive himself for. After all, that was the only reason Mordred was still alive.

"I have no idea, Merlin" Gaius said, and of course not – how could he?

"'Our new friend', Mordred said." Merlin sat up straight. "He said they would come to visit! They are coming here!"

"We have to warn Arthur," Lancelot said.

Merlin glared at him. "Really? And what do you suggest we say to him?" His hostile tone took Lancelot off guard. It rather took Merlin off guard as well, but it had been a long day: his nerves were frayed and his patience was running thin.

"Merlin ..." Gaius said, soothingly and with a hint of warning at the same time.

"Maybe it's time you told him, Merlin," Lancelot said, looking Merlin squarely in the eye.

"You keep saying that, Lancelot, and what do I keep telling you?"

"That it's too late, but Merlin ..."

"Exactly! So just ... leave it alone, okay?"

In the seconds of silence that followed, Merlin remembered that Arthur had told him that a couple of times in the last few days: "Leave it alone."

Lancelot took a deep breath and dared one more try.

"I just don't see how you can think that you're going to keep it from him forever. Or why. He cares about you more than ..." he trailed off. "He'll understand, Merlin."

"No. You heard him, Lancelot. No secrets. No magic. He will understand that I have been lying to him for years. And then he'll ... I don't even know what he'll do. It doesn't matter. It's not going to happen." Merlin stood and began to leave. Gaius just looked at him in silence. Whatever thoughts were going through the old man's head, they probably weren't new. Lancelot's eyes followed Merlin as well, but he didn't move to stop him.

"Just think about it, Merlin. Try to soften his view of magic, at least, see where it leads."

Merlin didn't even have the strength to shake his head. He suddenly felt dead tired. His body was heavy and cold as he left Gaius' quarters and made his way up the stairs towards his own room.


	12. King, Queen, Knight, Pawn

_A/N: The lyrics at the beginning of this chapter are one of the things that made me think up this entire fic. Have a listen, if you have the time._

_"I met up with the king  
>He confessed his body was burning<br>I met up with the king  
>His body had begun to rot<em>

_And he said: 'Don't think less of me  
>I'm still the same man I used to be'<br>But no one believed him  
>No one believed him"<em>

- First Aid Kit,_ I Met Up With the King_

IYîYîYîYI

**King, Queen, Knight, Pawn**

A knock on the door woke Merlin from his sleep. He slowly worked himself out from under the covers and was halfway to the door when his slowly wakening mind realised that it was still dark. He opened the door just a crack and looked out. Arthur stood outside, still dressed.

"There you are!" the King said. "I thought you'd never open!" His tone was casual, but he kept shifting from foot to foot, and had his hands behind his back.

"Wha ...?" Merlin opened the door up wider with a sigh. "I was sleeping! Why aren't you?"

"I can't sleep. I thought you'd keep me company." Arthur pulled out the chessboard he'd had hidden behind him. Merlin stared at him.

"Arthur ... I can't even play chess."

"Then I'll teach you," Arthur replied, and walked right by Merlin into the room. Resigning himself to not being allowed to sleep, Merlin closed the door behind him and went to light a couple of candles. Arthur put the chessboard down on the little table and pulled out the two chairs that, apart from a tiny cupboard, made up all the furniture Merlin had. The room itself was only slightly bigger than the one he'd had with Gaius, but it had its own fireplace, and with feigned moves and carefully concealed magic Merlin lit the fire as Arthur set up the chess pieces.

"It's a great game, chess," Arthur said as Merlin sat down. "Teaches you strategy. Thinking forward, predicting any possible move of the enemy. You'll be white. White always begins."

Merlin knew enough of the game to move a pawn forward. He wondered why Arthur was here, but remembered Gwen's lips on Lancelot's cheek earlier in the evening and decided any discussion of that kind could wait until he was a bit more awake – especially since Arthur didn't seem eager to talk about it either. Instead he let Arthur explain the rules of the game and how the different pieces were allowed to move and tried to commit as much as possible of it to memory.

They had been playing in silence for a while, and Merlin was losing pieces but not as quickly as he'd thought, when they both moved to remove a white pawn that had been taken by the black knight. Their hands met, Arthur's reaching down half a second later and unintentionally closing around Merlin's. Arthur seemed to freeze on the spot for a second. Merlin looked up, waiting for his hand to be released. Arthur looked up and met his gaze. As slowly as if he was moving through water he let go of Merlin and said:

"You won't leave me, will you?"

For a couple of seconds Merlin was stunned by the unexpected question and the restrained emotion that echoed in the King's voice.

"Is this about what you said to Lancelot a couple of nights ago?" he wondered.

Arthur heaved a sigh, broke their eye contact and leaned back on his chair, nearly tipping it.

"Not everything is about them, Merlin!"

"Do you really think they would run off?" Merlin pushed. Arthur looked back then, and sat up so quickly that the front legs of the chair made a loud bang as they crashed back to the floor.

"Damn it Merlin, I don't want to talk about it!" he nearly shouted, slamming his fist on the table. The chess pieces went flying and Merlin felt the blood leaving his face. Quickly and quietly he began to collect the pieces, setting them up again as well as he could. Arthur ran a hand over his face.

"Sorry. Sorry. Yes. Maybe," he mumbled. "It would be better than the alternative, wouldn't it? Let's not talk about that anymore, please. Let's talk about how ridiculously easy it is to see through you, and how you're about to pay for it."

Merlin froze, holding a white bishop in midair.

"What?"

Arthur gave him a look.

"The _game_, Merlin. You're losing it."

"Oh." Merlin slowly lowered the bishop on to the board. "Well, I told you I'd never played before."

Arthur reached out, and to Merlin's surprise and confusion grabbed his hand again. At a complete loss, Merlin tried to will his head into working faster, but his lack of sleep was still making itself known. Arthur's thumb gently stroked the back of his hand. Both men looked at it.

"Merlin, I ..." Arthur began. Then started again: "I ..." then stopped. Then he took a breath. "You matter to me. More than you think. I know that I don't show it. But sometimes I think that, maybe ... I matter to you too?"

Merlin felt his heart jump in his chest. He stared at Arthur, but Arthur's eyes were still locked on their hands.

"Of course you do! Arthur, you're like a brother to me."

Arthur's thumb stilled. His face fell. Merlin felt his heart fall with it.

"I mean ..." he began. Arthur let go of his hand and the room felt colder. "I'm sorry, I know I'm just a servant, that was inappropriate, ..." Merlin continued, almost frantic. Arthur laughed.

"No, Merlin, it's alright, it's I who should ... I guess, I guess I just didn't expect you to say it out loud, is all." Arthur was smiling again. It looked like a mask, but then again, most of his smiles did these days. Arthur raised the last fallen chess piece and they kept on playing.

By the time Merlin lost the game, the candles were noticeably shorter. Arthur rose, thanked Merlin for the game and went to the door. Merlin followed him and opened the door for him. As he said goodnight, he still had the feeling that something was wrong between them, and the desire to make it right coupled with the tiredness muddling his mind made him dare to go for a hug. Arthur started and pushed him away, but Merlin managed to grab his arm and catch his eyes.

"I did say something wrong, didn't I?"

Arthur put his hand on Merlin's and gave him a tired smile.

"No, no you didn't. You're nothing but a perfect gentleman. Surprisingly." It was said in a joking tone, but like the smile earlier, the joke seemed forced. "Actually you make me feel embarrassed that I've kept you up this long. So, I leave you to your sleep." He removed Merlin's hand. "Goodnight Merlin."

Arthur walked away down the corridor, leaving his confused servant behind. Merlin began to close the door, but stopped when he noticed a guard standing in the shadows of another doorway, looking straight at Merlin. When the guard realised he had been spotted he quickly looked away. Merlin wondered if he ought to say something, but he couldn't think of what so he decided to let it be and closed the door behind him.


	13. The Blue Hour

_"I heard somebody call your name  
>from underneath our willow<br>I saw something tucked in shame  
>underneath your pillow<em>

_Well I've tried so hard baby  
>but I just can't see<br>what a woman like you  
>is doing with me" <em>

- Bruce Springsteen,_ Brilliant Disguise_

IYîYîYîYI

**The Blue Hour**

All the way from Merlin's door to his own, the corridors and stairs had been quiet and cold. Arthur was freezing and falling asleep on his feet, but he still hesitated outside the door. Guinevere would be in there, sleeping with her dark curls spread out over the white pillows, beautiful in the moonlight, and his heart would break a little bit more at the sight of her. Or she would be awake, worried, having waited for him for hours. And then he would have to make up some story of late night strategic discussions, instead of telling her that the pain and sorrow of seeing his wife's lips on another man's cheek had, momentarily, shaken his resolve to never seek something similar – that he had almost been on his way to break _her_ heart in return. Only to be stopped by Merlin. Faithful, bumbling, never-quite-wise, always-annoyingly-right Merlin.

He looked down at his hands. He had left the chessboard on Merlin's table. Just as well, or he would have had to take it back to his own old room, where it had been lying in a chest full of his father's belongings. No one was using it anymore, not the things and not the room. Arthur looked at the door which he still thought of as his father's door. In the darkness the surface of it looked black and not quite natural, as if it was the gates to the kingdom of the dead. The superstitious part of him almost believed that the room itself was to blame for the way the relationship between its occupants had deteriorated. The Gods knew no one had been truly happy in that room for as long as Arthur could remember or had ever heard of.

He opened the door. As he had pictured, he saw Guinevere bathed in the moonlight from their window. She was breathtaking. He could hardly remember the days when she had passed him in the corridors, Lady Morgana's maidservant, without him even noticing. It seemed preposterous. Had he really been that blind? She had been there for years, this wonderful woman, beautiful, wise, humble, honest, and it had taken so long for him to see her. But as soon as he truly had, he had loved her. And, wonder of all wonders, she had loved him back. She had supported him, believed in him, told him what he needed to hear when no one else would. She had stood up for the people. She had believed that he was their champion, and because she believed it he had believed it and it had become true. She had been a loving wife and an amazing Queen. A kiss on the cheek, was that really so bad? She hadn't really changed since they first fell in love, and neither had he, not more than could be expected with the weight of the kingdom now on their shoulders. Couldn't it have lasted longer? Was a kiss on the cheek really enough to drive a wedge between the royal couple, enough to start rumours, even enough to make the King act as recklessly as his Queen? Couldn't there be a way to work this out, other than Leon's way: to send someone away, or send someone to their death?

In the pale blue light, Guinevere's skin looked even softer than he knew it was. Although she was not skin and bones like Morgana and her half-sister, in this light her arm, draped over the covers, looked so thin, so brittle. Like he could break it between his hands if he wasn't careful.

Arthur sat down on the bed, and the feel of linen under his fingers was taken as a cue for a numbing tiredness to wash over him. He felt like crying. The day unwound before his eyes in hazy imagery: The soft waves of Guinevere's hair on the pillow. The pitiable fear and concern in Merlin's eyes and the feeling of Merlin's knuckles under the pad of his thumb earlier in the evening. The silent regret in Lancelot's eyes before that, in Gaius' quarters, the speed and fearlessness with which the other man had thrown himself in harm's way to save him. Merlin collapsing in the woods. The way his eyes had rolled into his skull, the feeling in Arthur's body as if all his blood had left it. Leon's hand grabbing Arthur's shoulders. Leon, whom he had grown up with, who knew the gods knew how much – more than Arthur wanted to think about, probably. Gwaine's arms closing around Merlin's body. Merlin shamelessly holding on to Gwaine for support. And really, Gwaine was the most harmless dangerous man Arthur knew, Gwaine was a gentleman in disguise, and Arthur knew he was doing the man a disfavour by letting the blackness rise inside him at the thoughts of these memories. But Gwaine had the gift of making everything, closeness, happiness, fearlessness, _life itself_, seem so very simple. As if no effort was needed, when for Arthur it seemed to be so very, very hard. Yes, it had definitely been a long day.

When Arthur slipped under the covers, he felt Gwen move sleepily behind him. He closed his eyes and lay still, but against his hopes he felt her move and raise herself up on one elbow, putting her other arm over his.

"Arthur?"

Arthur could see the window from where he was lying. He thought it had got brighter outside since he had left Merlin's room, but he wasn't sure.

"It's late Guinevere. Let's sleep."

She didn't move. She was probably considering whether or not she should ask him where he had been. Then she took a breath and said:

"I love you. I will always love you."

As she lay back down her arm slipped away from his body, but her hand remained on his elbow. He let his own hand cover it, as it had another, paler, larger hand just a little while ago.

"I love you too."

The need to cry had dissipated. Arthur suddenly felt calmer than he had all evening, as one single, last thought of the night ran through his head: that the funny part, and the unutterably sad part, was that they were both telling the absolute truth.

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* * *

><p><span>AN: _Big thanks to all of you lovely people reading and reviewing this! You make opening my inbox one of happiest parts of my day!_


	14. Stairs and Hallways

_"Everybody knows that you love me, baby  
>Everybody knows that you really do<br>And everybody knows that you've been faithful  
>Give or take a night or two"<em>

- Leonard Cohen,_ Everybody Knows_

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**Stairs and Hallways**

From the hours before sunrise until the stroke of midnight, Camelot teemed with life as merchants, publicans, servants, staff, knights, members of court and all imaginable sorts of people all went about their business. In the citadel, apart from a few closed off wings, there was not a staircase or a hallway that was ever empty for very long.

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There had always been a rumour mill among the servants of Camelot. Merlin was aware of this. He'd just never really been a part of it. There had been times, when Gwen was still Merlin's friend but not Arthur's girlfriend, when she would let him know whatever she had picked up during the week, but Gwen wasn't much of a gossip, and only learned that kind of stuff by accident. There had been others, and still were, who had a reputation for knowing everything about everyone – who knew the people of the court better than the court members knew themselves. Merlin wasn't entirely sure where they got all this information, but he imagined it had something to do with the sort of hiding behind statues and lurking around corners that he himself employed to hide his magic, or save the day, or usually both.

When the gossip was ready to be passed on, on the other hand, it was often done in broad daylight in the most public of places. That being the case, it wasn't the first time Merlin rounded a corner to find a group of servants discussing something in hushed, excited voices; and Merlin being the King's loyal manservant, it wasn't the first time he saw such a group go quiet and scatter as he approached. But when it wasn't midday yet and it had already happened three times, he was beginning to worry.

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Lancelot had been released from Gaius' care in the morning, and now that it was past midday he was on his way to the council chambers. On his healthy arm he was carrying books and notes, concerning any and every kind of magic that could have been used to kill Sir Ewan and the robbers, that Gaius had wanted him to bring to the round table and show to Arthur. As he came up from a flight of stairs and into a corridor the books began to slip, and he carefully tried to steady them when he bumped into someone coming out of a doorway and dropped everything.

"Oh, oh I'm so sorry!" someone called. Gwen's maidservant was standing in front of him, looking distressed, when Gwen herself came out of the door and shooed her off. "Lancelot, I'm so sorry! Elaine was just in a hurry," Gwen said as she knelt down to begin picking up the scattered pages. Lancelot saw Gwen in the corner of his eyes, but painstakingly avoided looking directly at her. It had been a long time since the two of them had talked. Since his return to Camelot, Lancelot had tried to avoid ending up alone with her. Even more so since her wedding. Between his duties and hers it hadn't required much effort. They barely met beyond the meetings at the round table.

It hadn't helped.

"What is all this?" Gwen asked, holding up one of the books, and he told her about his errand with his eyes still glued to the ground. Gwen stopped and looked at him.

"Lancelot, I'm so sorry for all of this."

"Don't worry, it's just papers."

"No, I meant ... all of _this_, this whole situation, it's just painful for everyone, and I want you to know that if I had thought just for a second that you'd come back ... I mean, you did come back, and then I knew you had come back, and I married Arthur anyway so I can't really say that, but I have to explain that ... and I'm not saying I don't love Arthur, because I do, very much, but I ..."

"He needs you," Lancelot interrupted.

"I know. I just wish ..." Gwen drew a deep breath. "I wish I wished I didn't love you."

One single paper still lay on the floor.

"One day you won't. One day we will wake up and all of this will be a memory. You and Arthur will rule Camelot better than anyone before you, and I will fight for both of you, and we will all laugh when we think back on how difficult it all seemed once."

"I hope you are right."

Lancelot looked up. He didn't realise his mistake until their eyes met. His lips moved before he could think, to create the words:

"Arthur is a lucky man."

He hurried to look away, and stretched out his arm to pick up the last paper.

"In many ways he is even luckier than he thinks," he continued, back to not meeting Gwen's eyes, "but I am sure that he knows perfectly well how lucky he is to have you. How lucky Camelot is to have you as its Queen. You are needed here."

He stood up. Gwen followed.

"Lancelot, look at me," she begged.

He could never refuse her. She took the books and papers off his arm.

"I'll take these to the table. I'll be there in a minute. You rest your arm."

Then she leant forward and kissed his cheek before disappearing back into her room. Lancelot looked at the old wooden door for a moment (_their room, Arthur and Guinevere's room, the happy, beautiful royal couple, the people I love more than anything_) before he turned around and resumed his walk towards the round table.

A few yards further on he stopped and listened. He could have sworn he had heard the sound of departing footsteps.

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Merlin was about to step out of the stairway into the hallway when he caught a glimpse of a group of people further ahead, talking among themselves. Determined to find out what it was this time, he whispered a spell to hear what they were saying.

"_... so I hear, anyway."_

"_The lady Morgana walking through the woods like some beggar?"_

"_It is hard to believe."_

Morgana. They were talking about Morgana. Merlin felt almost relieved.

"_I still can't understand ... those days when she was on the throne ..."_

"_... the same woman as that little girl who used to sneak into the kitchen and run around my feet ..."_

"_How could anyone commit such horrors?"_

Someone grabbed Merlin's shoulder. He almost screamed.

"Are you spying on the servants, Merlin?" Gwaine said.

"Wh... No! I'm just trying to listen to what ... to what they're saying, but I'm not spying per se, I just..."

Gwaine laughed.

"You shouldn't worry so much about what people say, Merlin. They know themselves that most of it is made up, they just like to talk about it."

"You don't understand!" Merlin hissed, looking over his shoulder to make sure the people hadn't heard them. The little group had moved on and Merlin began walking again, explaining to Gwaine as he went along: "I had reason to worry! Leon said that if the people start talking about Gwen and Lancelot, Arthur will have to take some kind of action. That can't happen! Not now, when Morgana just showed up again."

Gwaine looked at him. The smile was almost gone, just a hesitant little turn on one side of his mouth remained.

"Merlin ... people are not talking about them. They're talking about you."

Merlin stopped in his tracks. Gwaine turned around to face him with a bemused look on his face.

"Me?"

"Yes, Merlin, you."

"What ..." _Oh God let it not be the magic_. But it wasn't about the magic, was it, it was ... "Why?"

"I didn't hear all of it, but apparently they're quite curious about why The King Himself was seen leaving your bedroom at an ungodly hour. I think someone even claimed they'd seen a bit more than that."

Gwaine looked at Merlin as if waiting for a reaction, but Merlin was speechless. _The guard in the hallway. He would have looked, and what would he have seen, he would have seen ... _He would have seen Arthur in Merlin's doorway in the middle of the night. He would have seen Merlin's almost-hug, and he might, from the right angle, have seen Merlin's hand on Arthur's arm, seen Arthur's hand close over it. And it might have looked like ... But that was ridiculous. People wouldn't believe something like that. Would they?

Gwaine slapped Merlin on the back and smiled. "If you ask me these people are far too interested in the lives of royalty. They'd make molehills into entire mountain ranges just to be able to discuss the comings and goings of their Kings and Queens. Let's not be late for the meeting, shall we?"

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Gwen was just a few doors away from the council chambers when she heard the voices of two maids who were coming down the stairs to her left.

"No, he swears it was the king. But I don't know what to believe of it."

Gwen knew she should carry on, but her feet refused to move.

"I mean, in the middle of the night?" the voice carried on. "What would he be doing up there in the middle of the night?"

They were closer now and Gwen should move if she didn't want to get caught listening to the gossip of handmaidens as if she valued it. But then, she had been a handmaiden, and there had been truth in that talk a lot of the time, hadn't there?

"Don't you go all clueless and coy with me, Mia! Just 'cause he's no girl doesn't mean there's more than one thing kings ever come to th' servants' quarters for. He's been shoppin' there before, hasn't he?"

No, Gwen resolutely decided, she had never really been a handmaiden, she had been a blacksmith's daughter, and she definitely didn't value the gossip of handmaidens. She turned around the corner just before the two women came into view.

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As Arthur walked to the council chambers in the early afternoon, every person he met bowed, or curtsied, or, in the case of a couple of knights, just bowed their heads and smiled at him. They greeted him with "Your highness," or "Good day, My Lord," or "How does your majesty?" And not one more word was said to him. But behind a pillar, out of earshot, one valet leaned towards another and whispered: "She's cheating on him."


	15. Man and Beast

_"Here we go again  
>We're sick like animals<br>we play pretend  
>You're just a cannibal<br>And I'm afraid  
>I won't get out alive"<em>

- Neon Trees,_ Animal_

IYîYîYîYI

**Man and Beast**

Arthur sat down on his chair at the round table. It had been said that the shape of the table was to afford no man more importance than the other, but be that as it may they still had their assigned places, and Arthur, by no choice of his own, had a far more ornate and cushioned chair than anyone else. It had been standing in the council chambers, at the old rectangular tables, for generations. Arthur didn't particularly like it, but when he had suggested it should be thrown out the poor old court chronicler, already taxed by the revolutionary changes being made, had looked like he was going to have a fit, so Arthur had shown some pity and left it there.

This day he was the first person to enter the room, and he could watch the others as they came in. Leon was first, nodding to Arthur before taking his seat. Not many seconds later, Lancelot entered the room. Arthur felt his face turn into a smile despite himself. Here was a brother, if ever he'd have one. That day when they had first uncovered the round table Lancelot had said that Arthur had shown him what it is to be a knight. But from now until his deathbed, Arthur would forever claim the opposite. The cold and bitter part of his mind, the one that remembered listening to the true story of Morgana's origin being forced from his (_their!_) father's lips on the old Kings deathbed, thought: _there's always a woman, isn't there?_ But this time the woman was his, was Guinevere, and he couldn't put himself above the conflict any more than he already had. He had accepted that there was certainly more than one person with conflicting feelings around this table. Feelings were not to be blamed, only actions. And the only action thus far committed was that innocent kiss on the cheek, yesterday. That kiss still burned in Arthur's guts. He had never considered himself the jealous kind, nor a hypocrite. How wrong he had been. All he could do now was the same that he asked of the others – to not act on it.

Lancelot told them Gaius would not make it since he had to take care of Sir William, and Leon told them of the reaction of the parents and friends of the dead Sir Ewan, and the three men had moved on to discussing the lighter subject of the progress of the knights when Gwen entered, dressed in a lavender gown and with a thin ring of silver for a crown. She gave all of them a tiny smile, left a heap of books and papers on the table and kissed Arthur chastely on the lips before sitting down on his left hand side. As she told them that the papers were from Gaius, and Arthur and Leon both began looking through them, Arthur stole glances at her. Not once when they had talked this morning had she even asked why he had been away so late last night or where he had been, and now she acted as if nothing out of the normal had happened yesterday at all. Arthur loved this about her: that calm, the gracefulness and the regal nobility that most people who were born royal could only dream of.

Percival joined them, and last of all Merlin and Gwaine came in through the doors together. Gwaine greeted them all with his usual wide smile, but Merlin, Arthur noticed, looked troubled. That was never a good sign. He didn't look at anyone as he walked up to the table and only mumbled a greeting. Arthur wondered if it was because of what they had seen in the woods yesterday, or if it had to do with his own late night visit. He hoped it wasn't the latter, that Arthur hadn't manage to make things awkward between them (_now of all times_) but even more so he hoped that it wasn't anything new. They definitely had enough to worry about as it was.

Merlin began to pull out the chair on Arthur's right hand side. Arthur watched the pale white fingers close around the back of the chair, felt the faintest of twists in his guts, and cursed whatever star he'd been born under.

Since the first day they'd met ('_there's something about you, Merlin'_) this had happened to Arthur from time to time. Most days back then, Merlin would be his annoying manservant, or his un-asked-for advisor, or his unacknowledged friend. But every once in a while ('_I can't quite put my finger on it'_) a flash of that brilliant smile, or a sparkle in deep blue of those eyes, or the soft movement of those big but – occasionally – graceful hands would awaken something different in Arthur than the usual mix of fondness and exasperation. Something altogether more physical. Something like a savage little animal living in his belly, which, when woken, would pull the blood from his brain, push his heart into his throat, dry out his mouth and bite, bite hard into the base of his spine until the bone there turned into hot liquid, twisting and turning his guts in the process. It hadn't taken Arthur long to figure out what it was – he wasn't that naive, thank you very much – but it was a desire he kept separated from everything else, good or bad, that he felt about his manservant. He had pushed it aside, kept it under the surface, and when Guinevere had come into his life that vicious little beast in his belly had gone to sleep, leaving its slowly wakening, Guinevere-orientated cousin in charge.

Arthur had been all the more surprised to discover that the original beast could still wake up now and then, usually at the most inappropriate moments. And at the most different moments. There was the day before Arthur's crowning, when Merlin had slipped on the newly polished floor in the great hall and flailed about like a hen before landing on his behind, red faced with embarrassment. There was the time when Gwaine had insisted that Merlin should train with the knights and the manservant had proven to be unexpectedly skilful with a sword, which had made Arthur wonder how long it really had been since he'd been practising with Merlin on the field behind the castle, but had also sent a thrill down his spine at the sight of the intense concentration in Merlin's eyes as the dancing swords around him sparkled in the sunlight. And then of course there had been last night. Just as if there could have been a worse time than now for Arthur to let his own eyes wander; as if there could be stupider things to do than to mess up the relationship with the one person who was always there instead of returning to his wife's bed; there had been yesterday night. Something had driven him up those stairs, and then when he had grabbed Merlin's hand over the chessboard that little savage beast had woken up with a vengeance, and the feeling of soft skin and brittle bones under his own fingers, the warm pulse in Merlin's wrist, the sight of sleepy blue eyes and tousled black hair had all combined to make Arthur open his mouth and say things he had never intended to say.

Under the round table, those same pale, soft fingers that were occupying Arthur's thoughts gently grabbed his wrist. Merlin was looking at him. So was everyone else.

"Right. I don't know how many of you have heard what Sir William had to tell us ..."

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Merlin sighed at the lack of progress. The size of the heap of papers Gaius had given them had been deceptive. It appeared to be Gaius' way of telling them: "I have no idea what that girl is or does, it could be any of these things". He had written a note saying the girl was most likely completely human, simply possessing an unusual gift for magic.

"I didn't think children could have magic," Percival said.

"Children were killed during the purge," Arthur answered, "but I don't know if they had necessarily shown any trace of magic abilities or if they were simply killed because their parents were sorcerers and it was feared they'd turn out the same."

Lancelot threw Merlin a glance. Alright. He could give it a try, show Lancelot what he was up against.

"They say there are people who are born with magic," he said to no one in particular. "Maybe she's one of them. Maybe she never really had a choice."

"Born with magic?" Gwaine asked, looking something between curious and incredulous. "How would you know that a baby was born with magic? Would it make food fly into its mouth, or set the cot on fire?"

Merlin looked at Gwaine. He was almost about to make a surly remark that would probably have given away a bit too much about his own infancy when Arthur interrupted.

"Even if that was so, Merlin, the fact that she's helping Morgana makes her an enemy."

"No, it makes her the _weapon_ of the enemy! A child with magic, who can make beasts appear out of nowhere when she's frightened, she would get shunned by everyone around her ..."

"And can you blame them?" Arthur asked.

"You sound like your father!" Merlin blurted out.

Arthur stared at him.

"So?"

The room went silent. Merlin shut his mouth, wishing he could put the words back in and make everyone forget about it, wishing he could tell Arthur exactly why him sounding like Uther was the worst thing that could ever happen. But Gwen rescued him.

"Merlin has a point, Arthur. Uther, however great a king he was, always became blind as soon as the word 'Magic' was spoken. Don't do that. If something is a threat, treat it as a threat but don't stop using your head. Or your heart."

The room remained quiet. Uther's name had filled the room with an awkward tension. Lancelot and Percival looked a bit as if they wanted to leave. Had the conversation got too domestic for their comfort? Leon looked tired, and Gwaine looked as if he was on the edge of his seat, watching a battle: maybe watching Merlin and Arthur argue was just a game to him; or maybe it was a matter of life and death – Merlin didn't dare to guess what was going through his head.

Arthur nodded to Merlin. Merlin took up where he'd left off:

"It would have been the easiest thing in the world for Morgana or Morgause to just pick that girl up in some village and take her with them. Sir William said she was just a little girl. You can't blame her for this."

Arthur shook his head. "I don't, Merlin. I blame Morgana. I blame Morgause. You're right, the child is probably just a weapon to them, and no matter what her abilities are I think that if they're using a child for their own purposes it's loathsome. But she _is_ a weapon, and she has proven herself to be a highly dangerous one. I'm not happy about contemplating the killing of a child. I wouldn't want to ask any of my knights to do that. But what if I have to?"

Merlin could tell Arthur was being perfectly honest and genuinely troubled. He nodded. He looked at Lancelot and wished he could tell him: _See? This is it. This as much as I can hope for. It has to be enough._

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"Leon?" Gwaine said. "You look as if you have something on your mind." Arthur gratefully turned his attention to the two knights, turning his back on the sudden tension between himself and Merlin._ Right. Ignore it and maybe it will go away. That always works._

"Yes, well ..." Leon began, clearly hesitating. "I was thinking about a couple of reports I got, weeks ago. About strange animals being sighted in different parts of the woods. Red eyed animals. Didn't that thing that attacked Lancelot have red eyes?"

_That attacked me_, Arthur thought.

"It did," Lancelot supplied.

"What are you saying," said Arthur, "that it might have been the girl conjuring animals then too? Where was this?"

"Near the white mountains, in the darkling woods, at the border of Cenred's old kingdom ... all over. I had thought it completely separate events, but now I'm thinking ... but maybe I'm making too much of it."

"That could mean they've been practising with her" Merlin said. Arthur didn't look at him, but the sound of Merlin's voice alone made relief flood over him. The tone told him that Merlin had moved on, that he was back to discussing the present problem and putting greater moral questions aside for the time being, and above all that he wasn't going to bear a grudge against Arthur for the rest of the day because of how he'd spoken of the girl.

"Why though?" He offered. "It's obvious someone with powers like that can make a good weapon but in what kind of attack? What are they planning?"

Everyone seemed to contemplate this. Now Arthur dared to look at Merlin again. The manservant was leaning back in his chair with a furrowed brow, creating possible scenarios in his head, no doubt, along with the other people around the table. Except Arthur, who took time once again to contemplate Merlin.

Whatever ideas that little animal in his belly had about Merlin, Arthur the man had some ideas of his own. Most of them not formulated fully, only a bunch of contradictory words that stuck to his picture of Merlin like the halo around the portrait of a saint: Trust, recklessness, loyalty, disobedience, simplicity, oddness, honesty, _secrets_.

There were times when Arthur would look into Merlin's eyes and know without a doubt that the other man was keeping secrets from him. In a moment it would pass, and he would curse himself – or laugh at himself – for being so ridiculous, and it would feel like waking up from a dream. But then it would happen again, some other time: he could _see _the secret like a shadow moving behind Merlin's eyes and just like when you have a recurring dream he would suddenly remember all the other times this had happened and wonder how he could ever have questioned the reality of it. It unnerved Arthur no end. There were times, when he would see that slowly swirling shadow in the depths of Merlin's eyes, when he thought that just maybe, it didn't matter. But usually the mere idea of Merlin keeping secrets from him felt like being stabbed in the stomach, and he pushed the thought away as quickly as it had come. And just like every time before, he would look away, and when he looked back there was just Merlin: Merlin his idiot manservant, Merlin his wonderful friend, Merlin who never needed to be asked to stay and who could never be ordered to leave.

Once again Arthur was startled out of his thoughts when Guinevere said:

"I talked with a woman from one of the western villages a couple of days ago. She said there was an old man in her village who claimed to have seen strange knights in the forest, with rowan trees on their shields. But no one else had seen anything and there had been no traces where the man said he'd seen them, so everyone in the village had just thought he was seeing things."

Silence.

"It doesn't have to have anything to do with this, of course, I mean, it probably hasn't ..." Guinevere trailed off.

"But maybe she can create knights," Lancelot said.

"Isn't that quite a large leap?" Percival wondered. "From beast to man?"

Arthur crumbled the paper in his hand.

"Not as large as you'd think."


	16. --

**A/N: **_This chapter was removed and/or worked into another chapter during the re-editing, but has been kept (rather than deleted) so that the reviews of the following chapters will correspond to the correct chapter._


	17. Guilt and Innocence

_"The sky is closing in  
>the winds are getting cold<br>and we're not the same people now  
>as we were before"<em>

- Marit Bergman,_ Were You Ever Really Mine_

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**Guilt and Innocence**

The meeting at the round table drew to a close as Merlin, and probably everyone else with him, contemplated the implications of what Gwen had heard. If the little girl, who remained nameless, was indeed able to conjure indestructible knights for Morgause and Morgana, then the witches might be getting ready for a second try at conquering Camelot.

Arthur threw him a glance every now and then. Merlin knew the King had meant what he'd said about magic and the little girl, and was not about to change his mind any time soon, but he also knew Arthur regretted having argued with Merlin in public. He always did, when he could tell that Merlin actually got upset. Merlin being visibly sad or angry or generally moody always managed to make Arthur confused and uncomfortable. Merlin remembered how Arthur had teased him when Freya had died, the then-prince's big blue eyes shining happily when he managed to force a smile out of Merlin. He remembered the oafish but kind-hearted attempts to cheer Merlin up by almost tipping him over, both when Balinor had died and when Gaius had been angry at him over Alice. More recently, just a few months ago Gwaine had got himself and Arthur into a fight in a tavern on the outskirts of the kingdom and Merlin had ranted at both of them for behaving so irresponsibly: the king and a knight of the round table, who were supposed to set an example, supposed to _protect_ the people, not bash their skulls in! Gwen had stood a bit to the side, agreeing with Merlin but also smiling, bemused. Gwaine hadn't been able to stop smiling, black eye and swollen lip be damned. But Arthur had been looking almost worried, pleading with Merlin to "don't be that way" and trying lines like "we're perfectly aware it was stupid Merlin, and we're sorry, but you should have seen these guys" and "come on Merlin, what's done is done, and no one got hurt". A fine thing to say when you have your arm in a sling. Prat. Merlin almost got annoyed just thinking about it.

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When the meeting had ended Merlin headed to Gaius' quarters to talk. He was halfway there, just walking past the library, when someone startled him by grabbing his arm from behind. This was some new sport, wasn't it, 'Sneak up on Merlin and Watch Him Jump'?

It was Gwen. She looked strange. Merlin was used to always being able to read every single one of Gwen's emotions on her face. Not this time. She quickly searched the hallway for people before she spoke.

"Merlin, can I talk to you?"

"Of course," Merlin said, feeling a bit uncomfortable, though unsure why.

"I just wondered, I mean, I heard someone talking about it and, it's not that I think there's anything _going on_, I just ..." She interrupted her own rambling. "Was Arthur in your room last night?"

Merlin stared at her. She had _heard someone talking about it_? What was that supposed to mean?

"Yes," he truthfully replied, and waited for a reaction to guide him. Gwen seemed to be doing the same, studying him closely as if he was a riddle she had to work out. Merlin felt his stomach drop. _No. Please, Gwen, tell me you'd never believe that._

"No, I mean ... yes he was there but, we were only playing chess. Talking. Only because he couldn't sleep after ... after what happened in the forest ..."

Merlin heard his own confused words as they stumbled over each other out of his mouth. It sounded like excuses. It sounded contrived. It sounded like: _"Really, Merlin, can't you come up with something better?"_ He could have bit his tongue. How was he supposed to be reassuring when the truth sounded like a lie?

Gwen looked more confused than anything.

"But you don't play chess," she said.

What was he supposed to say to that? _"No, but he taught me"_ sounded ridiculous.

"Well, I did lose. Look, Gwen. Gwaine told me that people have been ... talking." Was he really going to say this? _How do I say this?_ "And I don't know what you've heard, but you know you've been my friend longer than Arthur has, don't you? And I'm really not, you know, interested in ..."

"No!" Gwen shook her head. "No, I know! I never thought ... I just, wanted to know where he was, and ..." She looked at him quietly for a beat. "I guess I get jealous sometimes. Of how close you two are. I know I shouldn't. I think it's great that you have each other. It's just, the last year I thought I had become the one closer to him, and now I see that didn't happen. Or maybe it's changing back. It doesn't matter really, because it's two different things. Just ... tell me if there's anything I need to know, okay?"

She turned and left before Merlin had a chance to answer.

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Suddenly Merlin remembered how it had ended, that day when a black-eyed Gwaine and a handicapped Arthur had been trying to defend their oafish ways. Gwaine had eventually managed to sneak out of the room unnoticed – at least by Merlin and Arthur, Gwen had probably even opened the door for him. When Merlin had marched out the same door later on, he had heard Arthur ask Gwen if she wasn't going to give him a lecture as well. She'd said "Why?" and he'd said, jokingly: "I hear, from other men, that that's what wives do best." And before Merlin had got out of earshot, Gwen had replied in the same tone: "I thought it was what Merlin does best."


	18. A Friend and a Servant

"_When you're weary  
>Feeling small<br>When tears are in your eyes  
>I will dry them all<br>I'm on your side"_

- Simon & Garfunkel,_ Bridge Over Troubled Waters_

IYîYîYîYI

**A Friend and a Servant**

When Merlin arrived at the physician's quarters, Emma told him that Gaius wasn't there. When Merlin thanked her and turned to leave, she blurted out:

"There are these rumours going around, I thought you should know ..."

Merlin cringed. "Yes, I've already heard, thanks."

"Well, I think it's ridiculous, sir. And strange. Not like Marcus at all."

Merlin didn't follow. "Marcus? Who's Marcus?"

Emma turned the vial she held in her hand over and over.

"The guard who was posted in the servants' corridor. Usually doesn't speak a word of gossip to anyone. I think it's that new fiancée of his, Elaine or something. Anyway, I told those handmaids they were being silly, that they were fools not to realise that even kings have friends, and that a king who is friends with servants is a great thing. Everyone has the right to have a friend. I think it's fantastic how the King treats you almost like an equal, if you allow me to say so, sir. But I didn't tell them about that, because I don't doubt they'd get the wrong idea from that, too."

Merlin didn't know if he wanted to cry (_why do I feel like crying?_) or to hug her.

"Emma, you don't have to call me 'sir'."

She smiled.

"I know. But I think you deserve it."

Emma went back to mixing potions. Merlin walked out the door. _Elaine_, he thought. _Why is that name familiar?_ But the thought soon was pushed aside by a happier one:_ At least I know there's one friendly mind and friendly tongue in all these hallways_.


	19. A Visit from Lady Love

_"How's your new love?  
>I hope he's doing fine<br>Heard you told him  
>that you'd love him until the end of time<br>Now that's the same thing that you told me  
>It seems like yesterday<br>Ain't it funny how time just slips away?"_

- Willie Nelson,_ Funny How Time Slips Away_

IYîYîYîYI

**A Visit from Lady Love**

Weeks came and went in silence. Nothing was heard from Morgana or her accomplices, and although there were no signs of the Camelot rumour mill closing down, the number of huddled gossips went down to normal. Occasionally the Knights of the Round Table would receive word that strange, red-eyed animals had been sighted in remote parts of the kingdom, or, more and more frequently, knights with the shield of the rowan tree. But whenever anyone was sent out to investigate, there would be no trace of the sorceresses. For weeks Merlin kept an eye on both Arthur and Gwen, but they both went about their business as usual, and Merlin had begun to feel that any crisis on that front had been averted.

Two months after the attack of the robbers and the death of Sir Ewan, a royal visit was announced. King Olaf was to come to Camelot to discuss a new trade treaty – or rather to sign it and celebrate it, since most of the deal had already been made through correspondence. Olaf was also bringing the newlywed lady Vivian and her husband Lord Adric. Arthur seemed torn between amusement and torment at the thought. Though no one talked about it, no one would ever forget Vivian's last visit. Merlin mostly wondered who on earth would have taken the risk of courting Olaf's daughter with no other reward than, well, Olaf's daughter.

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The chess board never found its way back to the chest it'd come from. Arthur made a habit of coming by Merlin's room occasionally for a game – though at more respectable hours than the first time. This day, Gwaine had unexpectedly dropped by as they were playing, and refused to leave. To Arthur's annoyance, he had lain himself down languidly on Merlin's bed as if he belonged there. To Arthur's mirth, he was watching the game and commenting on every move they made. Merlin was still losing nearly every game, and every time Gwaine said "I wouldn't do that" or "Hm, are you sure that's a good idea?" Merlin twitched on his chair and looked like he was about to explode. The whole situation surely wasn't doing his game any favours. Perhaps it was to detract attention from that, or from his growing frustration, or just to get back at Arthur who had begun to smirk a while ago and couldn't stop, that Merlin brought up the upcoming visit.

"So, your 'one true love' is returning in a couple of days, how does that feel?"

Arthur glared at him. "Merlin ..."

At the other end of the room, Gwaine was now giving them his full attention.

"What are you two talking about?"

"Nothing," Arthur snapped, still looking at Merlin. Merlin smiled and turned to Gwaine.

"The last time Olaf was here ..."

"It was a spell!" Arthur tried to interrupt.

"... Arthur and Lady Vivian had a love spell cast on them by King Alined to sabotage a peace treaty between the kingdoms."

"Hang on ..." Arthur said.

Gwaine raised his eyebrows. "A _love spell?_"

"No, hang on, Alined? You never said it was Alined!"

Merlin shrugged at Arthur, giving him his best innocent blue eyes. _You really think that works on me, don't you?_

"We _couldn't_ tell you," Merlin said, "if you'd told Uther, the entire peace treaty would have collapsed."

It was fascinating how Merlin could, with his tone alone, make it sound as if it was entirely harmless and obvious and like Arthur was just really thick.

"You could have told me when they'd left!"

"I tried, but you said that if I ever mentioned any of it ever again you'd put me in the stocks for a month!"

Gwaine let out a chuckle.

"Arthur my friend, you really need to learn to control your temper."

"You should talk," Arthur huffed. "It wasn't a very pleasurable experience!"

"A love spell that makes some fancy lady crazy about you? Sounds kind of nice to me."

Merlin shuddered.

"Not with _that_ lady! I spent days trying to tear the two of them away from each other, and Mr. Dollop-head still manages to nearly get himself killed while she was just giggling in the audience!" Merlin was swinging a white pawn around while he was talking. "Silly geese," he muttered as he put it down.

Gwaine laughed. Arthur tried to give Merlin his best glare, but Merlin looked so huffed that he felt the corner of his mouth twitch. Merlin looked at him and must have noticed, because suddenly he was smiling too. That smile – the sight of it shouldn't warm Arthur's heart as much as it did. _You insolent, heart-wrenching boy_, Arthur thought. _But we are none of us boys any more, are we?_

Merlin made a move on the chess board and Arthur brought his eyes back to the game. Gwaine closed his eyes and leant back on the pillows with his arms behind his head.

"Poor Merlin," he said, failing to sound the least bit concerned. "Always trying in vain to keep the rest of us mortals from making asses of ourselves. So the love spell was a temporary thing, then?"

"Kind of," Arthur answered. "Yes," Merlin answered simultaneously.

They looked at each other, both confused.

"Vivian was still under the spell when she left," Arthur specified. He felt his stomach drop as he said it. "Oh gods. You don't think she's still affected by it, do you?"

Merlin shook his head. "Of course not! She got married to this Adric person, right? She loves another man, the spell breaks."

Arthur scoffed.

"Really, Merlin. Ladies in Vivian's position rarely marry out of love. Or out of their own will, at all."

Merlin seemed to cringe. Maybe he was still a naive little boy after all.

"Well, if she had still been possessed I imagine the wedding would have proved a bit difficult."

"Stubborn, was she?" Gwaine remarked from the corner.

"Very," Arthur and Merlin chorused.

"Anyway," Merlin continued, "I sincerely doubt Olaf would bring her here if she was still singing _your _praises."

"You make it sound like that's some kind of sign of insanity!" Arthur said.

There was a strangled noise from the bed. Arthur turned.

"What are you laughing about!"

Merlin joined the laughter.

"Impertinent peasants," Arthur smiled. "Anyway, you're probably right. _About Olaf_!" he added as the laughter grew. "And if she's back to how she was before the spell, she'll probably be too humiliated by the whole thing to bring it up, so it shouldn't be a problem."

Arthur moved the black rook, said "Check mate" and removed Merlin's fallen queen.

"It's just three days anyway. How bad could it get?"


	20. Early in the Morning a Little Bird Sang

_"I don't know where I'm going  
>but I do know that I'm walking<br>Where? I don't know  
>Just away from this love affair"<em>

- Rufus Wainwright,_ This Love Affair_

IYîYîYîYI

**Early in the Morning a Little Bird Sang**

It was a sunny morning the day King Olaf and his party were due to arrive. Arthur had taken the time to practise with the knights, leaving Merlin to oversee the last of the preparations alone (although it had been fun watching him, the day before, looking confused and awkward as everyone turned to him and overwhelmed him with a thousand little questions). Arthur leant back against a fence as two of the older knights practised their sword-fighting. They had both been around since Uther's time and didn't really need any advice from him, but he'd found that the king just being there raised morale among the men. Even so, he was only half paying attention to the fight when Gwaine walked up to him.

"How do you think we're doing?"

"Good! It's hard to think that it was only a couple of years ago that I despaired of Camelot's defence. The good knights were getting old, the bad knights were getting killed ... we're not quite there yet, the youngest knights are still untried, but a few years from now, I find it hard to imagine the army that could beat us. And, of course, in single combat, there's not a knight outside these walls who could beat you or Lancelot."

"Or you," said Gwaine with a smirk.

"Or me," Arthur agreed.

Gwaine looked at the combatants for a while, whistled at a particularly vicious blow and seemed almost calculatedly off-hand when he asked:

"So, you and Merlin. How did you get so close? I don't think either of you've ever told me."

Arthur's attention was brutally torn from the fight.

"What do you mean?"

Gwaine turned to look at him from under all that unruly hair, smiling a smile that Arthur still hadn't figured out exactly what it meant, other than that it was usually nothing good.

"You know, princes and menservants getting into pub-fights together ... a manservant riding out to rescue the prince, the king playing chess with his manservant ... it's not really the common way with your kind, to have that sort of relationship with the staff. And even if you're better than your father, you hardly treat every servant in this castle like an equal the way you do Merlin. One could almost believe you were friends."

Arthur shrugged.

"Merlin might not be my equal, but he_ is_ my friend. I don't really know why, we just ... saved each other's lives too many times not to be, I suppose."

"Really?"

Gwaine seemed unconvinced. Arthur felt nervous, but couldn't really figure out why. He hadn't said anything overly remarkable or given anything away, had he?

"Really. Why?"

"Well, first off, why were you saving each other's lives_ before_ you were friends?"

"Because it was the right thing to do! I saved Merlin because he risked his life for me, and that matters, servant or not."

"So," Gwaine pressed on, "why did he save you? Because he liked you!"

Arthur stared at him.

"No. He really didn't."

Gwaine paused, clearly surprised.

"No?"

"No. When we first met, we loathed each other. I don't know why he offered to drink poison for me. It seemed completely crazy at the time. Maybe only more so now."

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When the practice was over Arthur walked towards his room, still fully dressed in armour. He had just realised that Merlin would be too busy to be there and help him take it off, and that he would have to ask one of the spotty, incompetent little squires for help, when he heard two familiar names being spoken around the corner.

No one gossiped when the King was nearby – except possibly the nobility – but the persons around the corner seemed not to have heard the sound of his metal footfalls.

Arthur rounded the corner and saw a short, brown-haired woman talking to a young man. The man saw him first and ran away. The woman spun around and Arthur grabbed her by the arm. Big green eyes stared up at him.

"Elaine?"

"Your Highness," Gwen's maidservant answered, trying to curtsey but failing as Arthur held her up.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Nothing, My Lord, I was just talking to ..."

Arthur shook her mercilessly.

"I don't care who he was! What was it you said to him?"

Elaine shivered. Her eyes grew even wider in fear.

"I shouldn't tell you, My Lord, I really shouldn't."

It struck Arthur that he could walk away. Whatever she had been telling her friend about his wife and his friend, he certainly didn't need to hear it. Once heard, it could not be unheard, ever again. If he walked away now, he might be a happier man. Living a lie.

"I am your King. I order you to tell me what you just said to your friend."

Elaine nodded.

"Th-th-that I'd seen Queen Guinevere go into Sir Lancelot's room a couple of weeks back, and then again yesterday, My Lord."

Arthur felt his mouth go dry. He studied the green eyes meeting his. There had to be something in them indicating a lie. There had to. As he stared at her in silence, Elaine started to shiver again. Arthur shook himself.

"You shouldn't spread lies about your Queen, Elaine," he said, sternly.

"I wasn't! Oh, I wasn't, I saw it with my own eyes!"

"You're lying!" Arthur gripped her arm strong enough to bruise.

Elaine began to cry. Tears poured down her reddening face as she pleaded:

"Please, My Lord, I'm sure it was innocent! I know I shouldn't gossip, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I was on my way to post a letter to my sister, I just ran into George, I didn't mean any harm, please don't think bad of my mistress, I could swear she's innocent, she's such a good lady, I'm so very sorry My Lord, please let me go, I really need to send my sister this letter, please My Lord, I'm all she's got!"

Arthur had felt like punching her, but her strange rambling and her tears wore down the edge of his aggression. Without a word he pushed her away. She left as fast as her feet could carry her. Arthur looked at the place where she'd disappeared from view. She had to be lying. There was no reason she'd be lying about her own mistress, was there? Putting her mistress' position in danger meant putting her own position in danger, after all. But it had to be a lie.

Somewhere behind him, far out of sight, Arthur heard the sound of another knight making his way through the castle, the noise of the armour giving him away. He remembered that he needed to get changed in time to welcome King Olaf and, willing himself to focus on practical matters for now, he continued on his way.


	21. Fine Wine and Jealousy

_"The God of Wine is crouched down in my room  
>You let me down, I said it<br>Now I'm going down  
>And you're not even around<br>And I said: No, no, no, no, no, no, no  
>I can't keep it all together"<em>

- Third Eye Blind,_ God of Wine_

IYîYîYîYI

**Fine Wine and Jealousy**

It was a couple of hours past midday when the court of Camelot welcomed King Olaf in the courtyard. The sun was still beating down. Merlin kept himself in the background as Arthur and Gwen walked up to their guests and greeted them. Olaf laughed and slapped Arthur's back and seemed to have forgotten – or forgiven – all about their previous conflict. Lady Vivian clung to the arm of a man with a narrow face and straw-coloured hair who was presumably her new husband Lord Adric. Her face beamed as she glanced up at him every now and then, and he returned her looks with an equally smitten expression. Merlin smiled to himself. He could sense, now that she was close, that the spell Trickler had cast was gone – the pair standing on Camelot's courtyard now was truly in love. So much for Arthur's cynical comments about arranged marriages. He filed that thought away for future gloating.

As the guests were led around Camelot, however, it became obvious that the King and Queen of Camelot did not share the trouble-free love of the visiting couple. It might not have been apparent to the outsiders – at least Merlin saw no sign that they had detected it – but to a longstanding friend of the couple it was painfully obvious. Arthur hadn't said so much as a word to Gwen since Merlin saw them step out onto the courtyard. Arthur had looked at her once or twice as she chatted to Vivian and Adric, though not with the adoring smile he usually reserved for her but with a tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows and his lips pressed tightly together. Gwen seemed oblivious at first, but as the day wore on and the festive dinner approached she began to look more and more troubled as well; she kept up a smiling facade to the guests, but every time she thought no one was looking the mirth drained away from her face like water pouring out of a leaking bucket. And all day, Merlin never got the chance to talk to either of them.

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As the royals were getting seated for dinner, Merlin ran into Gwen's maidservant, and carefully asked her if she had noticed that Gwen seemed a bit upset and if she knew why.

"Oh, yes, I noticed. King Arthur seems angry with her, I'd say that's what troubles her. Don't you think so? Though I can't understand why he'd be mad at her."

As the brunette turned to hurry on, Merlin felt like there was something he'd forgotten, something just on the tip of his tongue.

"I'm sorry," he said, "what's your name again?"

She answered him over her shoulder: "Elaine." Merlin turned, walked, and was already far from her when he remembered why that name was important.

IYîYîYîYI

Food and drink was brought to the table in abundance as the first of the three dinners of the royal visit began. The third day's banquet was to be the biggest one – this evening there were only a handful of nobles present apart from the royals of each kingdom. Arthur was seated with Guinevere on his left and King Olaf on his right. Next to Olaf was Lord Adric, since he was now the heir of Olaf's kingdom, and Vivian had been seated next to Guinevere. Arthur had spent most of the afternoon talking to Olaf; about the treaty, about memories of Uther and about the growing fame of the Knights of the Round Table; but he had had time to exchange enough pleasantries with Vivian to know that there was now an unspoken agreement between them that what had happened on her last visit had never happened, and was certainly never ever to be mentioned again – as much to her relief as to his, he'd imagine. He had also exchanged a couple of words with Lord Adric and concluded that, even though he was a bit timid and perhaps not the sharpest of men, he seemed to be gifted with a kind heart and a healthy dose of common sense. With Vivian by his side he would be a worthy ally to Camelot the day Olaf, who was beginning to look worn and crooked, was no longer able to rule.

But even as Arthur distracted himself with wine, small talk to King Olaf, and these thoughts of diplomatic questions, every now and then Guinevere would catch his eye and his thoughts would stray.

She was radiant tonight. _Look at her now_ – laughing and joking with Vivian as if she had never despised the woman (of course Guinevere never despised anyone, but it had been close, he knew). She was breathtaking. She wore a dress in some kind of bluish-green colour that Arthur had never known the name of. It shimmered in the light from the chandeliers and her curls glowed like polished ebony against it. Her eyes shone and her teeth sparkled white as she laughed. Arthur cursed the cruelty of his eyes that made her seem more and more beautiful the more he suspected her.

Months earlier when he'd spoken to Lancelot about, essentially, the possibility of this very scenario, Arthur had made himself believe that he had already accepted it, that he was calmly resigned to the fact that one day he'd lose his wife to one of his best friends. Now when the moment might soon be here, he realised what an idiot he had been. Of course he wasn't going to just stay calm and let her go. Even if he might have to feign doing so to keep up appearances, inside he would still break apart.

Arthur straightened his back, turned to Olaf with a brilliant smile and cracked a joke about the recent news that King Alined had been dethroned after accusations that he had used magic to control his people – no one had ever liked the man much, and whether he had used magic or not it was widely known that he liked to profit from other people's misery. As Olaf laughed Arthur took a big swig of wine and told himself to stop being so morose. It was highly possible, of course, that Elaine was right and that whatever reasons Guinevere might have had to visit Lancelot's chambers had been entirely innocent. True, in his jealous state he found it easier to imagine all the less-than-innocent reasons she might have had, but a more coldblooded part of his head supplied him with the picture of a certain chess board: sometimes, you just needed a friend and nothing else. But then again, the chess games were only innocent because Merlin was innocent, ignorant of any other intentions Arthur might sometimes harbour, and because Arthur forced himself to keep it that way. Lancelot and Guinevere, on the other hand, were both attracted to each other, both aware that the attraction was mutual. That much had been obvious from the beginning. How difficult wouldn't it be, then, to spend time alone and not even touch? Wouldn't your skin burn for it? Wouldn't your fingers reach out in spite of you? Arthur's fingers reached for the goblet.

It was also possible, he mused as the sweet course arrived, that Elaine was lying through her teeth. But she had looked so honestly terrified of him, that to lie straight to his face must have been impossible. She would have to have been the best liar he had ever met. And surely if she had been that good a liar, she wouldn't have made him suspect her of slandering her mistress? She could have lost her position in a heartbeat. What reason could she possibly have had to lie to him? None that Arthur could fathom.

Olaf asked something about Morgana, but Arthur swiftly steered the discussion away from the subject. Thinking about Morgana hardly improved his mood. It only raised the question of why her next move was taking her so long, if she was indeed planning one. _It's either to put me on edge or lull me into false security, and of course it's guaranteed to do one of them. Father always said she was brilliant at tactics, when she could keep her head cold._ And brilliant at lying, for sure. There, despite distractions his mind was back at lies again.

_Lies_. Guinevere had never lied to him, not that he knew of, other than that time when she had tried to keep the truth about Elyan from him. But Lancelot had, he remembered now: that first time when he arrived in Camelot, with his forged seal of nobility. Arthur had defended him, on basis of his fighting skills and his apparent will to serve, but Uther had tried to remind him that there were other things that were more important. _"How can you trust a man who's lied to you?" _That was what his father said about Lancelot, a long, long time ago. Almost as if he had known what was to come.

Lancelot was present tonight, seated at the other end of the table. Right this moment he was whispering with Merlin, who had been walking around in the background as usual. Those two always seemed to talk to each other as if they had some big secret together. The way Lancelot acted around Merlin wasn't the carefree way Gwaine had of smiling, laughing, winking and throwing an arm around his shoulder; it was more of an older brother's way of keeping an eye out, admonishing, and whispering secret advice. Arthur had noticed that at times Merlin almost avoided Lancelot, as if they had argued over something. Judging from how long this had been going on and how very exactly the pattern repeated itself, he guessed that it was the same argument over and over, but while Gwaine would talk freely and openly about his friendship with Merlin, neither Lancelot or Merlin himself would ever with a word mention this disagreement of theirs to Arthur. When he had found the opportunity to question one of them about it, they had just denied that there was anything to ask about at all.

It seemed to Arthur now that this was just one more secret being kept from him by the three people he loved the most. For years now (_gods, it has been years already_) he had always tried to trust the judgement of the people around him, or to distrust his own suspicions when they hit him, but recently it was getting increasingly difficult. The image of his father came to mind, how he would twist in his seat at the very mention of magic, more easily manipulated through his suspicion of magic than even through magic itself. Maybe Arthur was now on his way to becoming a similar sight: a bitter old man, slowly rotting from the inside out from the constant fear and resentment.

A dark swirl of self-loathing worked itself up through Arthur's guts. He drowned it with another goblet of wine.

* * *

><p>AN: _Am I the only one who finds it funny that **King** Olaf's daughter is called **Lady** Vivian, while **Lord** Godwin's daughter is called **Princess** Elena? And yes, I did re-watch the episodes to make sure. ;)_


	22. Body, Mind and Bleeding Heart

_"I went too far, yes I came to close  
>I drove away the one that I loved the most"<em>

- The Cardigans,_ Lead me into the night_

IYîYîYîYI

**Body, Mind and Bleeding Heart**

Arthur was getting drunk. Properly sloshed. Every time Merlin had walked around the room, Arthur had called on some other servant to refill his goblet. Merlin didn't know if he wanted to hug him or hit him. Fortunately, Arthur didn't turn loud or rude and make a spectacle of himself – Merlin suspected that kingly dignity had become so deeply rooted in him that not even insane amounts of wine could shake it – but he turned disturbingly quiet, and by the end of the evening with the frown on his face made the other guests look away in discomfort.

When the guests had left for their chambers, more hours after the sunset than before the sunrise, Gwen tried to get Arthur to leave too, but Arthur only waved a hand at her dismissively and she seemed at a loss. She threw Merlin a glance – a quiet "take care of him" – and walked out. Merlin watched her leave before he walked up to Arthur. He looked at the empty goblet and cursed every other servant in Camelot for not having the backbone to _just leave it empty already_. Then he hoisted Arthur's arm over his shoulders, much against the man's slurred protests, and began walking them towards the royal chambers.

The hallways were empty and their footsteps echoed through them, creating a hollow sound.

"What the hell were you thinking," Merlin muttered, "getting drunk at a time like this! Why?"

"'m not drunk," Arthur slurred.

Merlin scoffed.

"Right."

Arthur hummed as if he agreed – he was apparently not sober enough for sarcasm. Then he asked:

"Why ... why did you save me Merlin? _Merrrr_lin?"

He swayed and Merlin staggered under his weight, struggling to keep them both upright.

"I don't know exactly what you're referring to," _I've saved you more times than you can begin to imagine_, "but I would imagine whatever I did I did it because you're my friend and I like you. Although right now I'm beginning to wonder why ..."

They regained balance. Arthur shook himself and suddenly managed to walk pretty well – as long as Merlin was there to keep him on a steady course.

"Nooo," Arthur continued. "I was a prat. Y'hated me."

"I've never hated you," Merlin promised.

It felt like the truth. Sure, he remembered that they really hadn't been friends from day one, but he could never have hated Arthur, could he?

"Y'did. N'you drank poison for me. Why'd you do that?"

_Oh. It's_ that _time we're talking about._

Merlin sighed. It was too late to have this kind of conversation.

"Maybe it was my destiny," he suggested.

"To save the prat?"

Merlin almost laughed out loud. "Yes."

Arthur didn't look as amused. He just leaned a little heavier on Merlin's shoulder and whispered: "I wish it was."

When they reached the familiar door of Arthur and Gwen's bedroom, Arthur started squirming in Merlin's grip.

"No, no ... not in there ... can't sleep in there ..."

"It's your room, Arthur! Now just let me open the door."

Arthur buried his face against Merlin's neck, as if hiding from the sight of the door, mumbling against Merlin's shoulder.

"No ... I can't _sleep _in there, can't sleep in that bed, and I don't want to think about it, don't want to think about _them_ in there, please Merlin, I want my room, can't I just sleep in my room?"

The words sent a chill down Merlin spine. _Has it really come to that already?_ He thought about just walking in with Arthur anyway, but if the King protested he'd probably just manage to wake up Gwen. And he sounded so ... _sad?_ The words were impressively coherent, and more than Arthur had said since sunset. More than he had said to Merlin regarding his feelings since ... Merlin couldn't even remember.

"Gwen will wonder where you are," he remarked.

"I don't care. Let her." Arthur pulled to move them away from the door, but Merlin stood his ground. It was impressive – or, rather, frightening – how much weaker Arthur was when he was drunk.

"Only if you tell me what's happened."

"My wife's been sleeping with my best friend. That's what's happened."

Merlin turned them around. He would _not_ subject Gwen to a drunk, accusatory Arthur in the middle of the night. He interpreted "can't I sleep in my room" as "in my old chambers" and moved on down the hallway.

"You don't know that," he said.

"Yes I do. People've seen them."

Merlin didn't even know if he should feel sad, angry or just exasperated. There was probably no point in arguing with Arthur right now, but he couldn't help himself.

"What have they seen? The two of them talking? Smiling? Sometimes, people see things that aren't there. Trust me, I know."

"Stop defending them, Merlin!" Arthur growled, then immediately calmed down, becoming more lucid in the process. "You think I'm paranoid. Do you think I'm turning into my father? He knew, you know. Told me not to trust him. I wish he'd never been pardoned for that ... what do you call it ... that fake paper thing. We'd never have become friends, he'd never have come back ..."

Merlin swallowed. He remembered his conversation with Gaius the night Lancelot had first been knighted. _"You played God, Merlin. You set him on a path of your choosing. Tonight you brought him triumph, but who knows what the future may hold?"_

The future had come, and right now it felt like it had held nothing but trouble. They arrived at Arthur's old door. It felt strange, opening it and bringing Arthur inside. As if they had been taken back in time, to the old days when Arthur was just a prince; when destiny and responsibility, heavy as they were, were still mostly clouds on the horizon, something that concerned the future. Now it was here, for both of them, and the dark, billowing clouds advancing on them from the horizon had new names that they never would have guessed at back then: Morgause and Morgana, Guinevere and Lancelot. _I don't want this to be happening_, Merlin thought. If only wishes were horses.

"I'm sorry," Merlin whispered as he closed the door behind them. Arthur looked confused. Merlin caught himself. "I'm the one who sent for him when we needed help," he explained, "the one who asked him to come back to Camelot."

Arthur shook his head. "I wanted him here, too. I wanted the friendship of a lying, treacherous bloody backstabber." He pulled himself away and started pacing the floor, slightly unsteadily.

"Don't call him that!" Merlin protested.

"Why not? He is. They both are! Traitors, backstabbers, filthy adulterers ..."

_Stop this! Make it stop!_

"Stop it! Don't talk like that! They both worship you, and you love them. You would never talk like this if you were sober; it's just the wine making you angry!"

"Good, then I want to be drunk! I want to be angry! I want to be _allowed _to be angry, to call them names. I want to be able to smash things, and throw stuff around me, and tear _their_ hearts to bloody pieces! With my bare hands, Merlin, I wish I could, do you hear me? I wish I'd_ never_ married her! 'They worship you' – bollocks! They don't worship me, how could they, they're laughing behind my back! You just believe that because _you_ do."

Merlin stared at him. He bit his lip, searching for something, anything, to say, to make Arthur stop. Arthur walked up to him. This close, Merlin could smell the wine on his breath and see the red veins in his eyes.

"I don't worship you."

Arthur made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"Your protest came a bit too late, Merlin."

Merlin didn't have time to react as Arthur suddenly grabbed the sides of his face and ... and Merlin's mind went blank. He felt Arthur's lips against his own.

_He's kissing me._

Panic spread through his body like a shiver moving up his spine. _What do I do? _Arthur wrapped one arm around his waist and pulled their bodies together. It was disconcerting how well his arm fit there. Arthur's body was warm. _Warm, enveloping and safe ... _but there was a tongue pushing against his lips and that was not safe at all. The panic came back. _No, wrong, wrong, away, awayawayaway._ Merlin pressed his lips tightly together, denying entrance, and put his hands on Arthur's arms to shove him away and ... and then what? Knock him over the head with the help of magic? Did he dare? Even when, on rare occasions, Arthur got so drunk he could hardly stand, Merlin knew he never got very hung over, never seemed to forget things. And if he threw Arthur out – or rather ran away himself, it was Arthur's room – then what? If Arthur went and found the nearest warm body instead, that would spell disaster.

While he hesitated, Arthur's mouth moved to Merlin's neck. Merlin pushed gently at Arthur's arms, concentrating with all his might on not magically throwing Arthur across the room.

"Arthur? Arthur, this is a really, _really_ bad idea."

A warm hand slipped up under his tunic, caressing his side. The foreignness of the feeling made Merlin wonder how long it had been since anyone touched his skin other than to heal or harm it. He wasn't living in celibacy by choice, exactly. He hadn't even thought of it that much, but now he realised that the only point of reference he had to this, to whatever was happening right now, was a shy kiss shared with Freya and some embarrassing fumblings with an older village girl before he left Ealdor. It had been a lifetime since he had felt hands on his naked skin. _Never any time, was there, between saving and fooling the prat._ Arthur's fingers slid across a ticklish spot and Merlin held back a flinch.

"Please," Arthur murmured, his breath cold against the wet spots he was leaving on Merlin's neck. "Please let me have this."

IYîYîYîYI

"_Arthur? Arthur, this is a really, really bad idea."_ Was that Merlin's voice speaking to him? Arthur's head felt so full of wine, and his ears so deafened by the pounding, the roaring of his blood that he didn't even know. The last remains of sense and sobriety in his mind were telling him the same thing – that this was a very bad idea indeed – but they were slowly being drowned out by the triumphant howl of that wild little animal inside that was twisting and twirling in ecstasy, in victory, now that Arthur had given in. Now that he was finally allowing himself to feel this, all of it: the soft skin under his fingers, skin that he had seen and touched in his dreams, the warmth of that body he'd so rarely even dared to look at, and the taste of salt and sunshine on Merlin's neck.

"Please." The word left his mouth like a prayer: an act of worship and a desperate plea for mercy. "Please let me have this."

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin still felt like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin, but the desperation in the king's voice was compelling. So was the way his own treacherous skin burned where Arthur's fingers crept over his ribs, and where Arthur's lips and tongue traced patterns on his collarbone. Merlin was getting dizzy. It felt like less and less air was getting into his lungs with each breath he took. His own words echoed in his head, over and over: _this is a very, very bad idea_.

"Arthur, please, you're drunk." His voice sounded weak and far away to his own ears. Arthur didn't even respond. Instead one of his hands slid down to Merlin's backside, and this time Merlin couldn't stop the instinct that made him flinch away and take two steps backwards. His legs moved on their own accord, trying to carry him away, but with Arthur's arm locked around him like a vice he lost his balance and stumbled. He didn't really know what happened next, but either Arthur was less drunk than he'd thought, or Merlin himself was drunker than he'd thought, or maybe the forces of the universe were conspiring against him, because before he knew it he had a mattress under his back and his drunken friend half on top of him, torso pressed against torso, a leg over his thigh. Merlin felt like his mind and body had been separated. Whatever was happening to his body, most of his mind had run away, refusing to accept it as reality, leaving only a small, confused sliver of itself to try and figure out what to do. The feeling of the warm hands that were still caressing his body anywhere they could reach told him to stay; because _oh god_, to be wanted by Arthur, even in this way, in any way at all, it felt so good that he wanted to cry. But the feeling of the other man's erection pressed against his hip, the movements of the body pressed to his – the feeling of that made him want to run.

In the end, he didn't have to decide either way. With an almost inaudible moan, Arthur stilled. Merlin stayed motionless for a while, wondering if Arthur would now come to his senses and realise what he'd done. But the rising and falling of Arthur's chest against his, and the regular breaths that tickled against his neck told him that Arthur had fallen asleep. Something inside Merlin clenched and trembled as his mind came back to his body and he felt as if, should he open his mouth, he would start laughing hysterically. He took a deep breath. Very, very carefully he disentangled himself from Arthur, who didn't wake up. Merlin looked at the other man's face. Arthur's cheeks were flushed, and his lips were redder than usual – both from the wine and the arousal, probably. The golden hair had fallen into his face, and without thinking about it Merlin reached out and pushed it away_._ He stood up and walked around the bed, tugged a blanket free and spread it over the King's sleeping form. The thought of Gwen came to him; Arthur's queen lying alone in her bed only a couple of rooms away. _What is going on in this court?_

"Please don't leave me," Arthur murmured. Merlin looked at him. No, he was still asleep.

"Hush," he whispered. "No one is leaving you."

He kissed Arthur's forehead and quietly left the room.


	23. In the Harsh Light of Day

_"Now you play the loving woman  
>I'll play the faithful man<br>But just don't look too close  
>into the palm of my hand<em>

_We stood at the altar  
>the gypsy swore our future was bright<br>But come the wee, wee hours  
>well maybe, baby, the gypsy lied"<em>

- Bruce Springsteen,_ Brilliant Disguise_

IYîYîYîYI

**In the Harsh Light of Day**

Arthur woke to the sound of birds singing and chirping outside. He felt warm and sticky. The sun had risen just enough to shine through his window and into his eyes. He stretched, yawned, and then fell face first back into the pillows and moaned. His first thought was: _I feel like hell. What was I bloody thinking, drinking that much?_ The second was: _It's going to be even warmer than yesterday_. And then, as if awakened by the word "yesterday", his brain stopped working under the assumption that since this was a familiar bed, it must be where he was supposed to be. He remembered that the sunlight was supposed to come from a different direction. He remembered that there was supposed to be someone beside him. Then he thought of Guinevere, and how she had looked in the candlelight during the dinner yesterday. How troubled she had looked when she had tried to coax him into going to bed, but he had refused her. His hands had wanted to reach for her, but also to push her away, and they had ended up making some strange gesture in midair. He hadn't been able to look into her eyes. _Because she cheated on me_. No, she couldn't have. Arthur tried to sit up. The sun didn't feel as warm anymore. Someone had told him that Guinevere had cheated on him. Who had told him that? He managed to push himself up. This was his old bed.

For a second Arthur stopped breathing. Guinevere had left him yesterday evening, and then out of nowhere Merlin had been there instead, pulling Arthur out of his chair to lean against that hard, warm body and look into those deep blue, unyielding eyes.

_No._

There had been someone beside him tonight. Someone who had tried to dissuade him.

_No._

Someone who had been still and unresponsive beneath him.

_No, no, no. _

Arthur felt his entire body go cold. _Not this_. Dear gods, say he hadn't hurt Merlin. He remembered all of yesterday now, and he realised, with pitiless clarity, what today would bring. He had to face Olaf and his family for one more day, and put up a perfect facade for them. He had to keep everyone happy and make sure the treaty got signed. He had to go see Guinevere, now, and try and explain where he had been all night, and not let on that he suspected her of anything (_fine mess I've made of this, acting exactly like I want her not to act_). And he had to face Merlin.

Arthur felt close to crying, or possibly throwing up. Every strange insult Merlin had ever thrown at him, now he deserved them. What he wouldn't give to have Merlin here now, to tell him what an idiotic prat he had been. Arthur would agree with him completely. Where was Merlin now? A cold hand gripped Arthur's heart as he imagined Merlin sneaking out of this room in the middle of the night. Had he been angry? Had he been hurt? Had Arthur driven him away now? Had he ...? The idea of Merlin leaving Camelot made Arthur's vision turn black for a second. He scrambled out of bed, in a hurry to try and fix what could still be fixed – with his friend, with his wife, and with his diplomatic relations to boot._ Good gods, why is everything happening now?_ When he stood up he noticed the state his clothes were in. He couldn't leave the room like this. He looked around the room for something to save him, even though he knew all his clothes had been moved to the new bedchambers long ago. His eyes fell on a bundle of clothes by the door. It took a couple of seconds of surprise before he realised Merlin must have left them there. _Why have I ever called him useless?_

Gwen turned her head, and unintentionally wrecked things for Elaine who was braiding her hair, when Arthur walked through the door. His clothes were new and clean but his face looked drawn and tired. She thought the words coming out of her mouth were quite natural:

"Where have you been?"

Arthur froze. Guinevere was looking at him. He couldn't quite tell if she was angry or if she had just been worried. Elaine was looking him over from behind the Queen's shoulder. What could he say when she was there? If she was a gossip, what wouldn't she make of this? But then again, she might be too frightened of him since yesterday to open her big mouth.

"Arthur! Where have you been?" Guinevere repeated.

Now she was definitely angry. And as if on a given signal he could feel his own anger rising inside. How could she scold him? Which beds had she been sleeping in? And what happened to keeping his temper?

"In my old room," he replied, honestly but more curtly than intended. "Merlin took me there because he thought I was so drunk I would bother you."

She studied him. She didn't seem convinced.

"And you've been alone?"

A chill ran down Arthur's spine.

"Of course I've been alone."

Guinevere's face remained closed, her mouth pursed and her eyes unwavering. Arthur must not have been as good a liar as he thought.

Guinevere turned to her maidservant.

"Thank you Elaine, I'll manage the rest."

Elaine took the hint and quickly slipped out of the room. As she closed the door behind her Arthur caught a glimpse of her smiling. For half a second he thought she reminded him of someone.

Gwen watched her husband watching the maidservant leave. It felt like a stab to her heart. She knew he wasn't interested in Elaine. On the contrary, it was quite obvious that he disliked her. But the look still struck a nerve with her. The image of Vivian came to mind. The memory of that visit, years ago now, when the arrogant but beautiful lady had stolen Arthur's heart away from her so quickly. Gwen knew it had been magic, back then. She also knew it wasn't Vivian this time, as blatantly in love as she was with her husband. Gwen knew all these things. But here Arthur was, lying to her, and the memory of how it had felt to hear from Morgana that he was fighting to the death over some other woman had never seemed so clear and recent as it did right now.

"Don't lie to me, Arthur. Please."

Something glowed in Arthur's eyes. His voice was cold when he spoke:

"Lie to you? I, do _I_ lie to _you_, Guinevere?"

"Yes, you do! I don't know what the truth is, but I can see in your eyes it's not what you're telling me. If you weren't alone tonight, at least have the decency to tell me!"

He had promised himself he would never, ever lie to Guinevere. He had promised himself that they wouldn't have this confrontation today. He had promised himself that he wouldn't lose his temper.

It seemed it was a day for breaking promises. Guinevere had the nerve to stand in front of him teeming with seemingly righteous anger, and before he could stop himself he bit back.

"As you tell me that you've been sleeping with Lancelot?"

Guinevere at least had the decency to look shocked.

"What!"

"Don't deny it! You've been seen entering his room, more than once!"

He watched her blush, and felt his heart break._ That's it. This is it._

"That I've been in his room doesn't mean I've been in his bed!"

Yesterday, that might have been enough to calm him down. One hour ago it might have been enough. Later, it might be important. But right now it meant nothing. Arthur's blood was boiling, and it wasn't going to cool down just like that.

"What sort of lady would be in his room in the first place! What sort of lady would be _seen_ going in to the room of a knight that _everyone knows_ fancies her? How could you possibly be that _stupid?_!"

Guinevere stared at him.

"It seems we're both stupid then!"

She stormed past him towards the door. Arthur grabbed her arm.

"Where are you going?"

She looked up at him. Arthur knew that face. It was the "I'm disappointed with you, Arthur Pendragon"-face, and in the midst of his wrath it could still make him feel ashamed.

"To talk to Merlin."

Arthur couldn't move. Not even his lips. For a moment it felt as if Guinevere could see straight through his soul and all had finally been lost. Guinevere tore herself free and continued:

"I'll ask him to make sure you don't get too much wine tonight."

She walked out the door, leaving Arthur standing immobile in the middle of their room.


	24. What Will Be Our Ever After?

"_Hey, please baby, come back,  
>there'll be no more lovin' attacks<br>and I'll be keeping it cool tonight."_

- Cardigans,_ For What It's Worth_

IYîYîYîYI

**What Will Be Our Ever After?**

Arthur could just hit himself. Why did he seem to be destroying everything he had been trying so hard to keep together?

He found Merlin in his room, sitting on the bed polishing a pair of boots. Arthur wasn't prepared for the punch to the gut it was to see Merlin again. If he had entertained any hope that last night would have put an end to this unfortunate attraction, it was gone now. To watch that silky black hair when he knew how it felt to run his fingers through it, to watch those lips pursed in concentration when he knew how they tasted ... _It's just this morning, _he told himself_. It's just because it's recent. It doesn't mean it will be like this forever. It will pass._

Merlin didn't seem to have noticed that anyone had come in, and for a while Arthur just stood there, tongue-tied. He couldn't think what to say, so he said what he would have said on any day but this one.

"Should you really be doing that?"

He closed the door behind him. Merlin started, but didn't look up.

"They're my boots. It's not as if I have an idiot manservant to polish them for me."

_Ouch. _

Arthur took a deep breath._ He can't be _that_ angry. He left me the clothes. He's still in Camelot. I can fix this._

"Merlin ... I'm so very sorry about ... yesterday. The way I behaved ... It was unacceptable. I cannot apologise enough."

Merlin shrugged, but he still wasn't looking.

"You were drunk, I get it. We don't have to talk about it."

Arthur wished it could be that easy. But he _had_ to talk about it, had to make sure they were alright.

"The wine is just an explanation, not an excuse. Merlin ... Merlin, look at me."

Merlin raised his eyes, but no higher than to Arthur's knees. It would have to do.

"Please forgive me, Merlin. If I hurt you ..."

"You didn't hurt me. You just convinced me I should never, ever let you get drunk."

Merlin scrubbed the boots extra hard as if it helped to emphasise his words. Was he blushing, or was he just red-faced because of the heat? Arthur had had plenty of dreams about his manservant's deep blue eyes, but he had never missed them as much as now. _Look at me. Shout at me, curse at me, just _look_ at me._

"Well, tonight I won't even empty the first goblet."

Merlin scoffed.

"I hope not! I just had to promise Gwen I'd make sure you didn't get drunk again."

Arthur swallowed.

"Guinevere was here?"

She had said she would, of course, but Arthur thought it might have been just words. Merlin nodded.

"She seemed _really_ angry with you. She asked me if I'd seen anyone with you."

He really shouldn't be frustrated that she would distrust him. Especially not when she was right to.

"What did you tell her?"

"That you'd been alone when I left you. It was only half a lie really, wasn't it."

Great. Now the havoc Arthur was wreaking around him was affecting Merlin's friendship with Guinevere, too.

"I'm sorry you had to lie to your friend," Arthur whispered.

Merlin stilled.

"Sometimes ..." he began, his eyes looking towards the floor but clearly seeing something else entirely, "sometimes lying to those you love is the best way to keep them safe."

Arthur shook his head.

"I don't believe that."

And finally, Merlin looked up at him. Eyes big and blue, mouth gaping slightly, before his face settled in a displeased frown.

"Then why don't you tell Gwen that when her husband is drunk and angry, he'll grab hold of anything with legs to get back at her?"

_What? No, wait ..._

"Or is that how you always behave when you're drunk?" Merlin continued. Arthur recognised this tone. It was that knife-sharp disapproval, harsh and brutal, that only Merlin would ever throw at him. "Because in that case I'm surprised we haven't had any illegitimate heirs running around here. Or maybe you always prefer men when you've had too much?"

"No, Merlin, no ..." _How can you possibly believe that, you beautiful idiot?_

But Merlin had never cared about Arthur's attempts to interrupt his rants.

"Why don't you tell her that, if the truth is always best?" he finished, eyes burning.

Arthur flung out his arms.

"_Because it's _not_ the truth_! I have never ... I lost control, yes, but I would never have ..." _What am I trying to say?_ "I lost control with _you_." He ran a hand through his hair and stumbled over the words: "Because I feel this ... thing for you, sometimes, and I can't help it, but when I'm sober I can ignore it, and I _have_ ignored it, and I _will_ ignore it! Because it's not important! The only thing that is important to me is your friendship."

In the silence, Arthur could hear his heartbeat, wild and fast. Merlin was staring at him. In disbelief? In shock? In horror, or in confusion? Arthur wanted to know what was going on behind those eyes so badly.

"You _have_ my friendship."

It was the way he said it. After all that bile, these words still came out with a hint of confused surprise, as if Arthur had asked if the sky was blue or if grass was green. Arthur felt as if he had been holding his breath all morning, or as if he had been falling, falling through darkness without even knowing it. Now he was breathing again, and now he wanted to fall to his knees in front of Merlin and kiss him, but he ignored that because _it wasn't important_. What was important was that he had been falling all morning and someone had finally caught him.

Merlin pointed to the door with the polishing cloth in his hand.

"Shouldn't you be at a meeting with Olaf?"

IYîYîYîYI

For the rest of the day, it was as if all the horror and anxiety Arthur had felt upon waking up had been washed away. Even when he saw Guinevere again there was only a slight pang in his heart. When they were alone for a minute he apologised for the way he had behaved that morning and the rude accusations he'd made. She seemed surprised but pleased and apologised in turn for assuming the worst about him. The fact that she had obviously been fooled by Merlin's "half-lie" made Arthur feel a bit guilty, but not so much that it kept him from walking on little clouds all the way to dinner, filled with the warmth of hope. Maybe everything would work out for the best after all.

IYîYîYîYI

At the dinner, Olaf brought up Morgana again. One of the knights had told him that they were expecting an attack from her. Olaf went on to assure Arthur how he had always been in agreement with Uther about magic, and that if Arthur needed the help of Olaf's knights – "Not that you would with the knights you have here" – Olaf would only be too glad to help. Arthur thanked him, and ignored the way Olaf occasionally looked at Arthur's goblet (_did I really make that much of an ass of myself yesterday?) _as they delved into a discussion of the evils of magic and various murderous magical creatures that Arthur had faced. Between lines Arthur threw Guinevere glances, and smiled at her – smiles that were more often returned the longer the evening wore on. The conversation, the din around them, Guinevere's smiles – it all came together, making his life feel normal again. But now and then he caught sight of Merlin in the background and the world would stop for a moment, and he would feel the warmth of that body, the softness of that skin, as clearly as if Merlin had been in his arms, and he would be reminded that maybe there was something that would never really be the same again, friendship or not.

IYîYîYîYI

When the evening came, Gwen was walking into the bedchambers side by side with her husband, and it felt almost unreal that they had been screaming at each other in this very room, this very morning. Arthur's mood had changed so drastically, she had wanted to ask if anything special had happened. She was sure it must have, but she didn't want to spoil it by prying.

When they came in, Gwen still giggling about something that Arthur had said, Elaine was making the bed.

"Elaine!" Gwen smiled. "I haven't seen you all day. Where have you been?"

Elaine smiled back, shaking a pillow lightly before putting it back.

"I'm sorry my lady. I had to visit my sister and her son, they needed my help."

Gwen stopped giggling immediately. Arthur stiffened beside her. Gwen didn't know Elaine's family – she didn't even know Elaine very well yet – but she had come to care for the girl.

"I hope they are alright?"

"Oh yes!" Elaine exclaimed, shaking another pillow. "My sister has been ill for a while, but she is much better now. By tomorrow she'll be ready to conquer the world!"

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur watched Elaine leave, and then felt the Queen's warm arms sneak around his waist. A nagging voice in the back of his head told him the optimistic feeling he had been carrying around all day was just the product of temporary relief, but he hushed that voice and clung to hope like he'd cling to a lover: passionately and as if this was their last night. He kissed Guinevere like he hadn't kissed her in months and followed her to bed.


	25. Bed Sheets and Sunlight

IYîYîYîYI

"_Every kind of love  
>or at least my kind of love<br>must be an imaginary love  
>to start with"<em>

- Rufus Wainwright,_ Imaginary Love_

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin lay still, with his eyes closed, waiting for sleep to come. He had waited almost half the night. His body wanted to turn, to move, to get up and pace the floor, but he wouldn't let it. He should be sleeping – he _would_ sleep. Any moment now, the wheels in his head would stop turning for the night. Any moment now.

He still felt the weird prickling feeling in his skin that he had felt in the morning when Arthur had come to his room, and after that, every time he had caught Arthur looking at him during the day._ "I feel this ... thing for you, sometimes, and I can't help it"_ – what was that even supposed to mean? That Arthur wanted him, wanted to touch him, wanted to share his bed? What was Merlin supposed to do with that information? He couldn't even wrap his head around it. It didn't fit with anything he had ever thought about Arthur, and certainly nothing he had ever thought about Arthur and himself. And it didn't fit with the fact that Arthur was married to Gwen, in love with Gwen, devoted to Gwen – that wasn't an act, Merlin had been there since it began and he knew it was true. And now he knew how it felt to have Arthur's breath tickling against his neck, how it could send a shiver down his spine to hear his name whispered in reverence (and wasn't that what he had always wanted, after a fashion?), and all the things he used to know and the things he knew now didn't fit together in the worldview he had, so his worldview had to grow. _It's no wonder it's hard to sleep when your world is changing around you._ Never mind that the bed felt cold, never mind that his body was playing tricks on him, telling him that maybe that which had seemed frightening, wrong and, quite honestly, a little bit gross last night might be worth a second try after all. _So what if the sloppy kisses were uncomfortable? Wouldn't it be worth getting used to, if it means I get to lie in Arthur's arms where it is warm and feels like home? Gods, am I going completely insane?_ Merlin pulled the blankets tighter around him. You weren't supposed to do too much thinking this time of night. It wasn't healthy, and it wasn't as if you'd look at it the same way when the sun came around anyway.

IYîYîYîYI

_The sun was streaming through the window. It made the sheets of their bed feel warm. It made Merlin's ruffled hair shine and his skin glow. Arthur ran his fingers over Merlin's cheek, down to his mouth. Merlin smiled. Tiny, tiny crow's feet appeared at his eyes. Had those been there before? Were they getting old already? Arthur let his fingers start over, slowly, flickering lightly over Merlin's temple, over those lines on his face. They suited him. They let his wisdom show on the outside._

"_What are you thinking?"_

_Merlin's voice seemed to be speaking from inside his own head, deep and with a hint of mirth. It made Arthur shiver. His hand traced a lazy path down Merlin´s neck, over a pale shoulder, down a chest speckled with soft, black hairs. Arthur felt his own chest contract, heat spreading through his body like wildfire. _

"_That I love you."_

_Merlin's smile grew, bright, unclouded – _like the sun_, Arthur thought. Merlin reached out his own hand, cupping Arthur's cheek (Arthur's bearded cheek, and there was something wrong with that, but Arthur couldn't remember what it was). Merlin pulled them together, kissed him, kissed him, kissed him, and Arthur felt as if the sunlight was shining straight through his body, right into his heart._

IYîYîYîYI

The sun was streaming through the window. Arthur woke up. The bed sheets were warm, and when he turned around he still expected to find Merlin there. It wasn't until he saw Guinevere's sleeping form that he realised he had been dreaming. It had felt so real_. It felt so right_. Like it had felt the first year he and Guinevere had shared this bed, but deeper, without the dark clouds looming on the horizon.

Distractedly he reached out, carefully hugged his wife, and kissed her hair. It wasn't the same as yesterday. Just as he'd thought, that endless, happy hopefulness he'd felt was gone. In its place was nothing but relief – relief that his mistake didn't seem to have made things worse than they already were, relief that Guinevere still wanted to share this bed with him, relief that Merlin had forgiven him so easily.

Once again he remembered Elaine's accusations against Guinevere. He wondered if it could be true, that this woman sleeping in his arms had been cheating on him with his first knight. For so long he had thought of her as the measure of all things good and right and noble. But it wasn't fair, was it, to expect her to be any more or less moral than he was himself? His eyes had strayed, his hands had strayed, his heart had strayed. If she had strayed, too, who was he to judge? If she had, there were certainly men much less worthy of her love than Lancelot. _I only know one man who is better_.

Arthur shook himself. He had thought all of these thoughts before, and now his mind had begun to run in circles. The only thing that had changed was that he didn't feel as angry at Guinevere anymore. He remembered the way he had lashed out at her the previous morning – it had been unfair. He could just as well have been talking about himself – maybe he had been. Maybe the anger had just been guilt in disguise.

So he was back at square one again. Were they ever going to get out of this?

He shook Guinevere softly and kissed her temple.

"Come on. Time to face the day."


	26. Old Friends Come to Call

_A/N:__ Thank you all you lovely people who review this! You make my day! A special thank you to Kate who said she spends money on expensive mobile internet just to read this. Hope you find this worth it!_

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><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_The sky is closing in  
>the winds are getting cold<br>and we're not the same people now  
>as we were before"<em>

- Marit Bergman,_ Were You Ever Really Mine_

IYîYîYîYI

On the third day of King Olaf's visit, the trade treaty was signed with great pomp and circumstance. The great hall was full of people from both the courts: knights, nobles and servants, dressed to the teeth and all looking exceptionally pleased, as if the treaty had been a joint effort from all of them.

Halfway through the ceremony, Merlin had begun to feel uneasy, without really knowing why. A tingling sensation that he couldn't get rid of started at the back of his neck, and it unnerved him. By the time the ceremony was drawing to a close, the feeling had grown stronger and he could only draw one conclusion: somewhere nearby, someone was using very powerful magic.

Merlin let his eyes wander around the hall, searching every face in the room, but he couldn't see anything. Neither had he expected to – it felt further off. He wondered if he could sneak out to have a look around the castle, but he would have to walk through the entire hall so his disappearance would probably not go unnoticed. He couldn't just leave either. Arthur was seated at the centre of the high table next to Olaf, smiling and flipping through the document, shaking hands with Olaf's advisers. _If this is it, if this is the attack we have been waiting for, then my place is here, by Arthur's side, isn't it?_ Not entirely true, of course. He couldn't actually do anything if he was next to Arthur. If he left now, he might be able to stop Morgana, or whoever it was, before they even arrived at the great hall – _maybe she's not even in Camelot yet, I could be sensing her far off, especially if it's all of them_ – and no one would have to know how close it had been. He looked at Arthur again, and firmly ignored the way his face heated when he did. Yes, he should definitely try to leave. But his feet didn't move.

IYîYîYîYI

A while later, the diplomacy had been dealt with and the meeting was to be turned into a banquet. Merlin was told to personally go and lock the treaty away. It was supposed to be put in a special cupboard in the library that only the King had access to – or, rather, only Merlin, since Arthur had "lent him" the keys a year ago and not accepted them back – but Merlin was feeling more restless and worried than ever and didn't feel he had the time to go all the way to the library. Instead he ran off to his own room, put the document in his own cupboard, whispered a concealing spell, and meant to go straight back to the great hall.

He was stopped at his own door. It wouldn't open. Confused, he tried the handle a couple of times. _But I just walked through it,_ he thought. He tried shoving his entire (admittedly not very impressive) weight against it, but it wouldn't budge. Then he shrugged his shoulders and incanted a spell.

Nothing happened.

IYîYîYîYI

The last of the food and drink had just been carried out to the tables in the great hall. Arthur took one last look around for Merlin. He should have returned from the library by now, but the man was nowhere to be found. It shouldn't worry Arthur – the servant body was busy today, moving to and from the hall all the time, and Merlin had always had a habit of disappearing to help someone else – but it_ did_ worry him. He had a bad feeling that went through every limb in his body and all the way in to his bones, the way you can feel it when a thunderstorm approaches, or how you feel when the earth trembles, and it felt absolutely integral that Merlin should be there.

Not showing the slightest glimpse of his discomfort to the people around him, the King rose to welcome all his guests to this next part of the celebrations. Everyone went silent. Smiling faces were turned towards him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, honoured guests, Your Highness ..."

He nodded towards Olaf who raised his glass in response, but before he could continue Arthur was interrupted by a chorus of clanging metallic noises outside. People in the hall began to turn in their seats, looking at each other as if their neighbour might be able to offer an explanation. The guards who had been standing along the walls took a couple of steps forward, looking towards the doors and their hands went to the swords. So did Arthur's, automatically, and he cursed when he remembered that of course he didn't have one at a diplomatic dinner. As the noise grew louder and nearer, the knights who were wearing civilian clothes showed signs of the same mixture of distress and irritation. The knights who were standing among the guards were all attention. Leon, their commander, looked at Arthur, but Arthur could offer little advice right now. Sir William, at the other end of the hall, reached for the doors. Before he had touched them, they flew open.

The next second, every armed man in the room was thrown to the walls. Swords and knives were torn out of hands and hilts as if they had a life of their own and floated up into the air, just out of reach. Morgana stood in the doorway, wearing a red dress and a viciously pleased smile that Arthur remembered from her last months in Camelot; a smile he had never seen in their childhood. By her side stood a young man who, Arthur realised, was Mordred. The once sweet little boy was now almost as tall as Morgana, his face narrower, colder, harder – a face cut in stone. He wasn't smiling. It was hard to even imagine a smile on that face.

"My darling brother!" Morgana exclaimed. It nearly echoed in the now deadly quiet room. "What a party you have here! And I wasn't invited? I'm hurt."

Arthur met her eyes with an unwavering glare.

"Morgana," he said, voice even and composed.

"Arthur," she said in return, with a mockery of a curtsey.

IYîYîYîYI

Magic had blocked the door. It had to be. And yet, magic seemed unable to make it open again. Merlin tried every spell he could think of, while he attempted to fight off the déjà-vu feeling from when the troll had locked him in. The panic, the terror, the hopelessness, and the stench that had felt like some kind of living entity eating away at his sanity. He took a deep breath.

_This is my room, not a stinking cellar, and this is _my _door._

With a shout he launched another bout of magic at the door – no spell this time, no incantation, just pure power. The hinges creaked. And then, like a dying animal, the door fell.

Merlin ran out into the hallway, rounded a corner, and ran straight into Elaine. The maidservant looked terrified. She was shaking, and her face was streaked with tears.

"Oh, please sir, you have to help! Someone has to help! It's, it's ..."

Merlin grabbed her arms and tried to make her look at him.

"Calm down, Elaine. Take a deep breath. What is it?"

He already knew it was bad. After all, he had been having a bad feeling about this the whole evening.

"It's, it's the Lady Morgana, sir. She just ... _cracked _open the doors, and, and, all the guards just ... I ran as fast as I could, sir ..."

Merlin didn't wait for her to finish before running as fast as he could the way she had come. As he was flying down the stairs two steps at a time he thought of what he knew about Elaine – namely nothing except that she was purposefully spreading destructive rumours about royalty – and wondered for a second if this was a trap. If maybe Elaine was even more dubious than she seemed and Morgana was preparing to tear down Camelot in some entirely different part of the castle.

_But the great hall is where Arthur is_. If it was a trap, Merlin didn't care.

IYîYîYîYI

Lancelot slowly rose from his chair and moved towards the centre of the room to join Arthur and Gwen. For every step he took, he kept an eye on Morgana and the boy, who were also walking towards the King. Behind them, some of the guests panicked and tried to leave, but the doors had closed and would no longer open. Lancelot could hear stifled sobs coming from that part of the room. Every sound made seemed to echo in the hall, as if there was a great, pressing silence underlining it all.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur asked. Lancelot couldn't help but admire the calm that Arthur seemed to possess in a situation like this. That he could sound as if he was in control when someone had walked into the heart of his castle and disarmed all his men. But Arthur stood as still as a statue in the middle of the room, calm and unyielding.

"My sister still suffers from the wounds she got the day we left Camelot," Morgana replied with a voice like ice. "She was nearly taken from me that day, Arthur, and I haven't forgotten."

Then she smiled again. The smile was more unnerving than all her frowns combined.

"And here I am, brother, to strike at _your _heart!"

Lancelot swiftly stepped in front of Gwen, pulling her behind him. Morgana laughed.

"Don't worry, Lancelot, Her Highness the Maidservant is not the target this time."

At first, he didn't understand what she could mean by that, but as he looked for the one person he knew could help right now, a fear grew inside him. _But why would she be targeting _him?

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin's fear that this might be a trap – or at least that it might be a trap for him alone – disappeared when he saw the lifeless bodies of guards forming a trail towards the great hall. He saw the doors up ahead and sprinted, heart in his throat and his mind chanting a prayer:

_Please let him live._

_Please let him live._

_Please let him live._

IYîYîYîYI

"Arthur," Lancelot said, trying to sound calm and disinterested enough not to give anything away. "Where's Merlin?"

Morgana, who had stopped only a couple yards away from them, raised an eyebrow. Arthur didn't even turn to look at him, but Lancelot saw his fists clench.

"Well away from here I hope!" the King muttered.

Morgana shook her head.

"Oh, my poor brother. Your knight is privy to more of your loved ones' secrets than you are!"

Arthur's hands twitched again. Lancelot looked longingly at one of the swords hovering above him.

"Let my guests leave, Morgana."

Morgana acted as if she hadn't heard Arthur's words. Instead she turned towards the boy she had brought with her and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Mordred here tells me the most interesting stories," she said, and looked at Arthur. "Of a great wizard that the druids call Emrys. A man who can make castles crumble and make _dragons _obey his every word. The most powerful sorcerer in centuries, with the fate of Albion in his hands."

Lancelot grabbed Gwen's hand without thinking._ Oh dear gods, no. Merlin._

Arthur looked straight at Morgana, his face a mask of stone.

"And you hope to make this wizard work for you?" he asked.

Morgana laughed. The boy smiled. The sight sent a chill down Lancelot's spine.

"Oh no, Arthur. He works for you!"

IYîYîYîYI

There came a loud screech from the hinges as the doors flew open. Merlin ran into the room, panting. His eyes went straight to the crimson figure of Morgana, standing in the middle of the hall and looking as if she ruled it once more.

"Hello Merlin," she said with a voice sweeter than honey. "We were just talking about you."

The doors slammed shut behind him, and as the noise was added to the pounding in his head it made the world swim before his eyes.

_Damn._

_Trap._


	27. The Witch and the Wizard

_A/N: Takk, Tack and Thanks for every review. I love to hear your reactions. I hope I didn't give anyone a heart attack._

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><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_I feel overwhelmed by this surprise  
>I'm gonna win a prize tonight if I don't cry<br>Now that you've recognized there's a problem  
>It's about to get worse<br>It's about to get worse"_

- I Blame Coco,_ It's About to Get Worse_

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur didn't understand. He wasn't stupid, he could see what Morgana was implying, what it was she wanted him to think. But he didn't understand _why_. She had obviously made some elaborate plan to get into Camelot (and he would give a whole lot to know how she had done that), only to spin some tale to Arthur to discredit his _manservant_? What did she expect to get out of that? She knew Arthur was close to Merlin, of course, but would she really go through all that trouble just to mess with Arthur's head for a while? It didn't make sense. She couldn't expect him to believe it was true, could she? Come on. They had been over this already. And if she really wanted him to believe that _Merlin_ was a _sorcerer_, she was hardly helping her case by making him out to be such a powerful one, was she?

_Everyone is in here, though. Everyone is hearing this. Maybe it's not me she's trying to fool. Maybe she's trying to make the nobles and the knights nervous. Destabilize the court._

She could certainly succeed in doing that. Arthur knew that underneath the bravery and self-discipline, many of the knights were utterly terrified of all things magic. It wasn't strange, considering how many times most of them had almost been killed by it. And those who weren't as scared still remembered lost friends. If Morgana turned the knights against Merlin, things could easily get out of Arthur's control. He'd have to send Merlin away, for his own protection.

The thought alone made it hard to breathe. "I am here to strike at your heart," she'd said. Great. Even Morgana knew.

And Merlin, the oaf, wasn't making it any better. He just stood there, gaping at her.

IYîYîYîYI

"What?" Merlin said, but something inside him already knew what this was about, and it made his blood run cold.

"I was just telling Arthur what an impressive reputation you have among the druids," Morgana said. "Did you know that they actually predicted your birth?"

She sounded so happy that it hurt. Merlin knew it was faked happiness, but he couldn't help thinking that it could have been real – if he had just told her himself, if he hadn't sent her off to the druids only to witness a massacre.

"... Months before you were born every single crystal in the crystal cave was showing it, day after day. You have been to the crystal cave, haven't you, Merlin?"

Merlin had to clench his fists and run his nails into his palms until it hurt to keep himself from throwing worried glances at Arthur and give himself away. Did Morgana _know _he was a sorcerer, or was she just guessing? By now, she'd surely have enough clues to make the guess, and to call it an educated guess at that, but could she prove it? Was it time to confess before she confessed for him, or was that exactly what she was hoping he would do?

Merlin opened his mouth and out came that which after all these years had become second nature to him: the lies.

"I ... I don't understand. Is this some kind of joke? How did you get here?"

_We walked in through the gates, Emrys_. Mordred's voice echoed in his head, and the young man stepped out from behind Morgana.

_Oh, great,_ Merlin thought. _I just keep making it worse._

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin looked so adorably dumbfounded, Arthur felt like swatting his head and kissing him at the same time. He took a deep, relieved breath. It wasn't true_. Of course it's not true. I never believed it was._

"_Merlin is a wonder, but the wonder is that he's so _stupid._ There's _no way_ he's a sorcerer." _Yes, he remembered. Not even when Merlin himself had claimed to be sorcerer had anyone been able to believe it. Nothing had changed since then, had it?

Except that Morgana was laughing.

"A joke, Merlin? I have to admit, I thought it was. But then it all started to make sense. All those times when it seemed fate itself was conspiring against me."

While Morgana seemed to have her full attention on Merlin, Arthur saw Leon charge out from the crowd and throw himself at Morgana. Arthur didn't have time to open his mouth, much less to order him to stop. He could only watch as Morgana turned and with a single glance hurled his friend and brother-in-arms into the banquet table, and nearly a dozen of the swords that had been floating about under the ceiling came flying after him.

"No!"

The swords halted inches away from Leon. Morgana turned to face Merlin again, still smiling – always smiling.

"Leave him alone," Merlin pleaded.

"Oh, Merlin. Do you really have to ask? Just send the swords away. It would be nothing to you, would it? Just a flick of the wrist. _Like breathing_."

Arthur shivered. She persisted. Why did she persist? Merlin shook his head.

"I can't. I'm not a sorcerer. I don't know why you think that, but I'm not."

He almost seemed ready to cry.

"Don't you, Merlin?" Morgana asked. "How about when Morgause and I left you chained up in the middle of the forest only to find you walking around alive and well in Camelot a while later, maybe that's why I think you're a sorcerer? How about that storm that saved your home village? Or how about the mysterious old wizard who suddenly turned up and confessed to having cast my spells? Or the spell book and the staff you have hidden in your room? Or the indestructible dragon that suddenly turned to dust, but that people still report seeing in the outer villages?"

Arthur twitched. Even now, even when all his focus was directed at the scene in front of him, the word "dragon" filled his head with memories of the roaring sound of fire rushing through the air, and the screams of knights and civilians being burned to death.

"Or what about the witch finder," Morgana continued, "who pointed you out as a wizard only to have toads coming out of his throat? He certainly looked a bit surprised to see it, don't you think?"

Merlin shook his head over and over.

"I have no more explanations for those things than you do. Let Leon go, please."

"I'm sure you don't," replied the sugary voice. "And I'm sure you don't have an explanation for why you're on first name basis with half of the knights of Camelot either, but that's a different matter."

Someone actually _sniggered_. Arthur watched Merlin's ears turn red and vowed that he would have the person hunted down and killed.

"... what I _can't _explain, Merlin, is how a boy from a little farmers' village became such a clever tactician. Tell me, did you plan it from the start, or did it come to you as you went along?"

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin was about to ask "What?" but bit his tongue. He could see now that this was all about to fall apart like a house of cards. Right now it would be as stupid to play along with Morgana as it would be to keep adding to his lies. If she knew about the spell book, she knew everything. So he stayed quiet and let Morgana talk, because for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what would be the _smart _thing to do.

"The first part is just too good to be a coincidence, of course," Morgana said with a smile. "Become the crowned prince's manservant on your third day in Camelot. Win his trust. Play the adorable idiot in front of him, and cast spells behind his back, wait around until he becomes king ..."

Merlin felt the blood drain from his face. Before he knew it, he had opened his big mouth.

"No."

"... but was it always the plan to betray your own people, Merlin?" The sweetness disappeared from Morgana's voice, and the smile from her face. "To pretend that you were joining the fight against magic and let other sorcerers die like flies? To lead the knights to the druids and let them be slaughtered? To betray both sides only so that you could bask in glory beside the throne?"

_You would talk, Morgana. After how quick you've been to trust anyone_ with_ magic and kill anyone without._

"You're wrong, Morgana."

As if it was following Morgana's lead, Merlin could hear his own voice transforming. The fear and confusion it had held, half real but half acted, faded away from it, leaving the cold, harsh tone he had ended up using against Morgana ever since it became clear they were no longer friends. Gwaine was standing in his line of sight, and Merlin could see his eyes widen in surprise at the change. He didn't dare look at Arthur. This was it. The lie that he had clung to for all these years was slipping out of his hands, and for a tiny moment he was scared.

"Am I?" Morgana asked, and now her voice was back to being sugar-coated, but with a decidedly bitter twist. "What _was_ the plan then? To use that position? To control Camelot from behind the throne? ..."

_No._

"... To control Arthur?"

_No._

"... Tell me, Merlin, have you been using spells on him or just old-fashioned manipulation?"

"I would never do that!"

It was a denial, but it was as good as an admission. He hadn't used spells on Arthur, but had gone behind his back, over and over, and Arthur would not just smile and forget. Morgana's eyes glowed. She had won, and she knew it.

"But you _could_ do it."

IYîYîYîYI

"_You're wrong, Morgana."_

As the strange discussion – or monologue – played out in front of Arthur, the rest of the world slowly faded away. The edges of his field of vision were no longer important. Characters in the background were ignored and forgotten. There were slight changes happening in Merlin as Arthur watched: something in the way his mouth looked; how he was holding his head, how his hands moved while Morgana spoke. As her accusations continued, Arthur had the impression that Merlin was growing taller, more imposing by the minute. Instead of fidgeting, he grew more and more still, like a hunter stills when he sees his prey. And even as his voice got more and more desperate, that as well seemed to grow, to contain a new undertone, to somehow resonate around the room without being louder. But above all, Merlin hadn't looked at Arthur. Not at all. And that was always a very bad sign.

No matter how much his heart rebelled against it, his mind told him that the theories he had been forming in his head to explain what was going on were looking increasingly farfetched and Morgana's accusations increasingly reasonable. All those fleeting moments when he had been sure Merlin was hiding something from him were suddenly clear in his mind.

"_I would never do that,"_ Merlin said, and his voice had taken on a cold tone that Arthur had never heard. It sent a chill down his spine. Suddenly he wanted to turn and run away. Whatever could be said now, Arthur didn't want to hear it.

Morgana opened her mouth again. The sight of the red lips parting to speak seemed to shrink down Arthur's world until it only consisted of the three of them. He wished she wouldn't do it. He wished she would just stop.

"But you could," she said.

_No, he couldn't._

_No._

_No._

_Please Merlin. Say something, anything, to pull me back from this ledge and make me believe that this is all a sick joke again._

Morgana cocked her head, studying Merlin.

"You're awfully quiet tonight, Merlin. It must be disappointing, of course, to watch your plans being crushed like this. Poor Arthur."

Morgana looked at him and nodded as if in some twisted kind of sympathy. "He's finally having his eyes opened."

She picked up a sword.

"If you won't admit what you are, then I will force you to either show him that he's been harbouring a sorcerer – or let him watch you die."

She had hardly finished the sentence before she hurled the sword at Merlin and it was followed by several others swinging through the air. Arthur heard more than felt his own scream. Merlin's face turned towards him for a split second, and Arthur had time to notice that the blue eyes were shining with tears before they changed colour, and everything froze – the swords, the people, and Arthur's heart.

There was a thunderous noise as every weapon fell to the floor. Lancelot immediately picked one up, as did Adric who was standing protectively in front of a wide-eyed Vivian. The less awestruck knights followed suit. The swords that had been pointed at Leon vanished into thin air, and Gwaine ran up to him and pulled him to his feet. Then, with a series of strange words and a twitch of his fingers, Arthur's manservant made a ring of fire spring up around Mordred and Morgana. Morgana laughed, but it rang false: she seemed as scared as she was amused.

But Arthur barely noticed any of this.

A man with black hair and pale skin was standing in front of him. A man with eyes bluer than the sky and lips that tasted like berries, sunshine and spring water.

But it wasn't his Merlin.

It wasn't Merlin anymore.

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin's heart was racing. All around him, guards were picking up their weapons. Some ran up to the fire to be ready to attack Morgana, others kept their eyes on him. He had no idea what was going to happen now, but it was probably best to just take a deep breath and let it unfold.

"The game is over, Morgana," he said.

"Yes, Merlin. It's over for you."

She reached for Mordred's hand. The druid's voice rang in Merlin's head:

_You've let your people down, Emrys. You've devoted yourself to a man who would have us killed. Now we will devote ourselves to having _him_ killed._

Wrath flowed up inside of Merlin and burst out through his mouth: incantations were leaping from his lips, loud and unrestrained, and with an infernal roar the fire exploded to twice its size and closed over Morgana and Mordred's heads just as they transported themselves away. The guards who had been standing close threw themselves away from the blaze in desperation. Somewhere, there were panicked screams.

The outburst of power left Merlin drained. He stumbled and fell to the floor, but he barely had time to breathe before two guards grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet. He raised his spinning head and saw Arthur coming towards him with big strides.

Merlin had heard of other countries, far from Camelot, where the earth shook and the mountains erupted in fire and ash. He thought that witnessing that must be something like witnessing Arthur Pendragon now.


	28. The Hammer Falls

_A/N:__ To the poor anon who was dying after the last chapter: I hopes this comes in time to resuscitate you (and that it doesn't do you in instead ...)._

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><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_I'm not calling you a liar,  
>just don't lie to me<br>And I love you oh, so much  
>I'm gonna let you kill me".<em>

- Florence + The Machine,_ I'm Not Calling You A Liar_

IYîYîYîYI

There was no sign of recognition in Arthur's eyes. There was no sign of _Arthur_ in Arthur's eyes. Never, in all the time Merlin had known him, had he looked so much like his father.

For some bizarre reason, Merlin almost felt like laughing when he thought that yesterday Arthur had been standing in his room, bashful and stuttering and frightened that he wouldn't be forgiven.

The tables had turned, and turned with a vengeance. Unbidden, the memory of how it had felt to be held in Arthur's arms filled Merlin's head. Would he ever feel it again now? He wanted to reach out and shake Arthur, wake him from this mutual nightmare, but the guards had his arms in a vice-like grip and fighting them would hardly serve to make Arthur more forgiving.

Around them, some servants and courtiers had begun to leave the room, still in panic, but others were watching them with obvious curiosity. Elyan and Percival escorted Olaf and his family out.

"Should we kill him now, sire?" said a knight Merlin didn't know the name of. Arthur didn't seem to hear, his eyes remained locked on Merlin's, but Gwaine heard and reacted.

"Kill him? Is this a joke?" he spat. "He just chased our worse enemy away!"

"He used magic!" another knight retorted.

Merlin looked at Arthur. He wished he knew what was in the other man's mind. Arthur's face was blank and his eyes hollow, betraying nothing. Merlin had imagined this moment many times. He had imagined Arthur yelling at him for lying, or just refusing to believe it. He had imagined Arthur turning and walking away from him, he had imagined forgiveness and he had imagined violence. He had never imagined Arthur's eyes could look so empty. It chilled him to the bone.

"You have been found guilty of using magic," Arthur began in a soulless voice.

"What are you doing?" Gwaine seemed ready to punch Arthur in the face, but Lancelot held him back, eyes pleading with a king who wasn't even looking in his direction.

"Sire, please, think about this ..."

Arthur raised his voice slightly and carried on:

"According to the laws of Camelot, such practices are banned on penalty of death."

Merlin was surprised by how calm he felt. He just felt cold.

"You can't be serious!" Gwaine shouted and tried again to step in between them, but a couple of the older knights grabbed him and pulled him back. Gwen reached for Arthur's arm, her eyes big and frightened, but he shook her hand off without even turning to look at her. Merlin pitied her then.

"You will be taken out to the courtyard and ..."

Silence.

Arthur just stopped. His mouth was still slightly open, jaw moving, as if he was trying to speak, but no sound came. Merlin could see a feeling slowly emerging from the hollow depths in Arthur's eyes now, and the feeling was _pain_. He almost started crying himself, now when Arthur couldn't, wouldn't, do it. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

This time Arthur broke eye contact with Merlin and looked at the guards.

"Take him out and have him flogged."

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin sagged, relief and dread flooding over him in equal measure. The reaction from the people around them was immediate. A couple of the knights, the ones Merlin recognized as the ones who were the most afraid of magic, seemed shocked and outraged. So did Leon, Gwaine and Lancelot, but presumably for the opposite reason. Lancelot still stayed calm, but Gwaine stepped forward for the third time.

"You can't do that! Arthur, I won't let you!"

This time Arthur turned to look at him.

"I think you'll find that I can!"

Gwaine reached for his sword, and a dozen other hands did the same in response, but when he drew it out it got transformed – just like it had on the border of the Perilous Lands – into a harmless flower.

"Leave it, Gwaine," Merlin whispered. Gwaine met his gaze with a look of frustration and disbelief, but went quiet. The guards began to lead him away.

Arthur turned around and tried to walk away, but Lancelot stopped him.

"Sire, please, it's Merlin. He's never done anything but helped you. You must know that. Merlin, tell him! Say something, stop this insanity!"

Merlin really didn't know what he could possibly say.

"You knew, didn't you, Lancelot?" Arthur asked the knight. Lancelot was quiet for a moment, then answered with unwavering voice:

"Yes."

Arthur turned to another guard.

"Throw him in the dungeons too."

That had Gwen speaking up.

"Arthur, stop this. You're not thinking straight."

"You can go with him if you want to, I have enough reason to send you down there, too!" he snapped.

Gwen stared at him open-mouthed, then turned and ran out. Arthur looked at the guards holding Merlin who seemed to have frozen to the spot.

"What are you waiting for, go! Take him out of my sight!"

The guards snapped to and began moving towards the doors.

Behind him Merlin heard Sir Williams upset voice:

"You can't let him live! It's _magic_! You've all seen what he can do, he's dangerous!"

Someone, maybe Leon, tried to hush him down. There was a scuffle and the sound of metal and Lancelot cried: "Merlin, look out!"

Merlin turned his head and saw someone rushing towards him with a sword held high. He reacted on instinct, and Sir William went flying through the air. It was a short flight. There was sickening crack as he hit the wall. He didn't get up.

Merlin stared at the slumped body.

"I ... what happened?"

A grey-haired, bearded knight walked up to Sir William, touched his neck, and looked back at Arthur.

"He's been killed, my lord."

Merlin shook his head.

"No."

_He can't be. I didn't even push very hard. He can't be._

"No, that can't be ... I didn't mean that, I didn't want that, I didn't ..."

All the knights were looking at him. Some had their hands on their swords. Arthur glared at Merlin's guards.

"Just take him away already! _Now!_"

And Merlin was finally pulled stuttering out of the room.

IYîYîYîYI

Emma obviously hadn't heard much about what had been going on in the other end of the castle, because when she saw Merlin being led by two guards towards the dungeons, she dropped the big basket she was carrying in pure surprise.

"Merlin! What's happened? Where are you taking him?"

She ran towards them, but stopped when one of the guards put his hand up.

"Don't worry, Emma," Merlin said. "Just, make sure Gaius stays in his quarters today, all right?"

The guards continued past Emma and he had to turn and call to her over his shoulder:

"Don't tell him anything, don't let anyone else tell him, just keep him away! It will be fine!"

Emma nodded. She stood silent beside the overturned basket and stared after them as they turned the corner.


	29. Rage is Deaf, Love is Blind

IYîYîYîYI

"_I sold my songs to have my fortune told  
>and it said:<br>'you should know that love will never die  
>but see how it kills you in the blink of an eye'"<em>

- The Cardigans,_ Please Sister_

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur looked at the dead body of Sir William. It lay beside a window, with the head at a strange angle. Then he looked down at his hands and saw them shake.

"My lord?" Leon walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Carry him away, Leon. And get everyone out of here. Please."

Now that the storm had blown over – at least for the moment – his voice came out quiet and subdued.

"Yes, Sire."

Leon disappeared from Arthur's view and soon a couple of knights were carefully lifting Sir William and the room was being emptied of people. Arthur looked out of the window. The sun was still beating down on the courtyard, and the people down there were fanning themselves, seeking out shadow and smiling at each other while pointing at the sky. Suddenly he remembered the dream he had woken up from that morning, and his body that had been feeling numb through this whole ordeal now seized up with pain. He had to bite his tongue in order to not flinch and cry out. His bones ached, his muscles burned. His entire body was protesting as if the very blood pumping through it had been turned into poison.

_My heart has poisoned me. _

It was a strange thought, but something about it fit.

A group of knights had been talking animatedly since William had fallen, and now as most of them were leaving the room the oldest of them, Sir Hector, made his way towards Arthur.

"My lord, a word, if you will."

"Forgive me, Sir Hector, but I'd rather not right now."

The old man nodded, almost to himself, as if he was thinking about some old memory that he thought Arthur shared. But Arthur shared few memories with this man. After Morgana's short time on the throne, Camelot's army had been decimated, some of their best knights killed and his father's spirit broken. To rebuild the city and its defences as fast as possible, Arthur had called in several former knights from their estates. Hector was the eldest and most influential among them. He was of the same breed as Uther: old and grey but still tall and wide, and still a fearsome fighter.

"I understand, Sire, but I'm afraid what has just happened here is a matter of grave importance. You know I was once a knight in your father's court. I fought by your father's side many times, and I was always loyal to him and the values he instilled in us. That is why it grieves me now to see you go against his wishes, and your own sense, like this."

Arthur crossed his arms.

"What do you mean?"

"By sparing the life of a sorcerer. A sorcerer that has had the audacity to hide in our midst and laugh behind your back. A sorcerer that has killed a knight of Camelot before your very eyes. I and many of the knights with me are concerned about what could possess you to make such a strange and unprecedented choice."

Couldn't this man just leave him alone? Did he have to rub it in?

"He committed a crime and he is being punished. That is hardly unprecedented."

"But the punishment does not correspond to the crime, my lord! Traitors are rewarded with death. So are sorcerers, and so are murderers. A man who has committed all three of these crimes should surely ..."

"Sir Hector!"

Leon walked up to them.

"Sir Leon," Hector greeted.

"Sir Hector, I believe your presence is required elsewhere."

_Thank you, Leon._

Sir Hector gave the younger man a grim look, but Leon was his superior officer and stared him down.

"Forgive me, Sir Leon, but what could possibly be more important than to discuss the handling of traitors to the Crown? Of which there are at least two, might I remind you. The physician must surely have known about this."

"Gaius?" Arthur exclaimed. "Gaius is an old man, a _kind _old man. He's nobody's enemy!"

"The last time I read the law, Your Majesty, harbouring sorcerers was still a crime against the Crown!"

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but Leon beat him to it. He grabbed Sir Hector's arm and pulled him forcibly towards the door. The older man appeared to be so shocked by this treatment that he didn't even put up a fight.

"You are to leave now, Sir Hector, and that's an order! Any opinions you have can be brought up with _me_ at a later time."

Hector glared at him, but accepted defeat and left. At a gesture from Leon the last of the guards left behind him, and when the door closed only Leon and Arthur remained in the hall.

IYîYîYîYI

Gwen ran. She ran through hallways she barely recognized, down stairs, into corridors. She ran past her own room because she couldn't bear to stop. Finally she ran out of breath and collapsed in a corner. As soon as her feet were still, she couldn't stop the tears anymore. She cried harder than she had since her father died. She cried so hard that her body shook. The world seemed to be falling apart around her. The court was falling apart, her marriage was falling apart, she was falling apart, and no help came.

She sat there for what felt like hours. Then at last, when she could take regular, steady breaths again, she wiped her face and got to her feet. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. Her friend was in trouble and her husband was making a terrible mistake. She might not be able to stop it, but she would do what she could.

IYîYîYîYI

Leon was quiet for a while, and Arthur chose to ignore him. Whatever this conversation would turn out to be, he had a feeling it was a conversation he wanted to avoid for as long as possible.

"King Olaf requested that he'd get to speak to you before they leave," Leon finally said.

Arthur hadn't even thought of them.

"Did he see ...?"

"Olaf and his family were escorted out of the hall after Morgana left. I told him that I'd ask but that he had to understand you were shaken by the sudden return of your sister. Being a man who ... cares a lot about his family, he understood that."

Even the mention of Morgana seemed something to do with a distant dream. He had almost forgotten her part in all that had just happened; only the revelation about Merlin filled his mind – that and the mess that was the political aftermath.

"That's not why I'm upset."

"I know, Sire."

Leon walked up to stand beside him, but a kept a bit of distance. As they spoke, both of them looked out the window.

"How could I have been this blind, Leon?" Arthur asked. He thought he heard Leon sigh.

"Sire, no one knew Merlin was a sorcerer. He kept it secret for a reason – one that must be as obvious to you as it is to me."

"But I knew him! I thought ... I've never known anyone like Merlin. And now it seems, I haven't known Merlin at all.

"Well ... I'm no expert, certainly. But they say that love is blind."

Arthur turned to look at him, stunned. Leon cleared his throat, and began to explain himself.

"When we first gathered around the round table – when Morgana had conquered Camelot and it seemed that all was lost – we all hurried to swear that we would follow you into battle, no matter what. All of us except Merlin. He joked about it. He dared to joke about it because he knew, and _you _knew, that the question was never directed at him. That he was never going to do anything _but _follow you. To the end of the world if he had to. I remember this clearly, because that's when I realised ... the way you looked at him. The way you've looked at him for years."

He drew a deep breath. Arthur looked down at the floor.

"It was all ..." Arthur didn't know which words to use. "A lie? An act? A survival strategy, I don't even know. I gave him my heart, Leon. Maybe he did put a spell on me."

The last sentence was barely a whisper.

"I don't think even Merlin is that good an actor, Sire. And I think the reason you are in pain now is something far more powerful than magic. I know how you feel about him, and I realise you are hurt. But I'm here to ask that you put those feelings aside and do what's best for Camelot.

Arthur stared at him. He wasn't saying ...

"You think I should have had him killed as well?"

It came out as more of an accusation than a question, but Arthur was too much in a state of turmoil to care about his own hypocrisy.

Leon shook his head.

"No. I think you should free him_._"

Arthur couldn't reply. Somehow that didn't make more sense.

"My Lord," Leon said, with an undertone of urgency in his voice that hadn't been there before, "I think this is exactly what Morgana wants. She came here, right into the heart of Camelot, and she didn't even try to hurt you. She only went after Merlin. His powers seem similar to hers, and it's clear he's a threat to her."

"You think I should spare him to use him as a weapon?"

Leon looked down at the courtyard. He seemed unsure as to what to say.

"I have seen Morgana kill civilians. I've seen her leave women and children dead and dying on the streets of Camelot as if it was a sport. Any enemy of hers is a friend of mine."

"Now who is being led by his feelings?"

Arthur tried to say it in a joking tone, but it fell flat. Neither of them could see the fun in this.

"If this was her plan," Leon continued, "we would be fools to play along. She's bound to be upon us soon."

He looked at Arthur.

"Not to mention that you are always a fool to turn away a true friend, even if it isn't in a time of need."

"If he really is my friend ... why didn't he trust me?"

"Like you're trusting him?"

_I did. I trusted him with my life. With my soul. I thought at least that much was requited._

"Sir Hector wouldn't be happy if I let a sorcerer remain in Camelot," Arthur said instead, "even less if I let him use magic."

"Sir Hector is an influential man, and he might become a problem. But not nearly as much of a problem as Morgana. And besides, My Lord ...

"You can call me Arthur, Leon, if we've known each other since we were boys and if we are really discussing ... these matters, now, then you can call me Arthur."

For a second Leon looked as if someone had offered him the keys to the city. Then he quickly composed himself and picked up the thread.

"Besides, Arthur ... you're not going to throw Merlin out of Camelot."

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"I'm not?"

"No."

"How do you know that?"

"The same way I knew you wouldn't have him executed. Because ... I don't think you'd know what to do without him."

In the courtyard below a small stage was being set up and a crowd was gathering.

"This still has to happen, you know," Arthur said.

Leon looked at his face as if he was searching for something.

"A flogging is a brutal punishment, my lord. He could get near permanent injuries."

"And if I went near him myself right now, I'm afraid I'd beat him half to death and not even be able to help myself. Hector's saying I'm too lenient, you're saying I'm too harsh – what is it you want me to do?"

Leon turned away from him with a troubled expression. Clearly he hadn't found whatever it had been that he had looked for.

"If you're going to do this to him, then you should at least have the decency to watch it."

It would have been an almost impertinent line, if Leon hadn't sounded so defeated.

Leon began to leave.

"You're missing the obvious," Arthur called out after him.

"And what is that, Sire?"

"It doesn't matter if I would let Merlin stay or not. He's not going to stay and be flogged when he can just ..."

He made a hand gesture: "... magic himself away. Far away. And never come back."

"If you say so, sire."

Arthur didn't reply. The sound of the door closing echoed through the empty room. He remained by the window, looking at the sunlit town below and seeing nothing but darkness. No one came in to disturb him for a long, long time.

IYîYîYîYI

Gwen ran out into the sun. The tall, red-haired man who was Camelot's hangman stood in the middle of the courtyard and directed the people who were putting up the small stage where public punishments were performed.

"Kay!"

The hangman turned around with a hand shading his eyes. He bowed when he recognized her.

"Your highness. How may I help?"

"You can stop this!"

A woman walking by with a basket full of eggs gave them a curious look. Kay shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but today my orders come from a higher authority than yours."

"Oh, stop calling me that! You used to see me every day. When I was a kid I used to run around your feet in the forge when you helped my father. You're a good man, you wouldn't punish someone who was innocent!"

He looked confused. Someone else called his name, but he gave them a dismissive wave that ended with him wiping the sweat off of his forehead.

"I thought this bloke had used magic in front of the entire court."

"He's not 'some bloke' Kay! It's Merlin. He's a good person. I don't care what he's done, he doesn't deserve this."

"I have to follow the King's order, Gwen. I mean, My Lady. If I don't then it will just be somebody else. I have to go now ..."

He began to walk, but Gwen grabbed his sleeve.

"Wait! Arthur ... The King isn't himself right now. He'll regret this later, I know he will. Just ... don't hurt him. Don't hurt him more than you absolutely have to, promise me!"

Kay nodded.

"I promise."

IYîYîYîYI

The men guarding the dungeons seemed decidedly uneasy about having one powerful sorcerer and two of the most skilled and respected knights of Camelot under their watch. They sat at the little table where they would usually be playing dice or having a drink, but now they were too on edge to do anything but glance at the prisoners. They never looked at Merlin, but they kept a constant watch on the two knights. For a while Lancelot thought it was odd that they would ignore the person most capable of breaking out, but then he realised – they were too afraid of him.

Afraid of Merlin. The words themselves seemed contradictory. He knew Merlin could be dangerous – but not to the undeserving. What had happened today was just an accident. The exception that proved the rule. In his very heart, Lancelot knew this to be true. What bothered him was that Merlin didn't seem as sure. Since they had been put here, he had sat in a corner with his knees pulled up to his chin. The first thing he'd said was:

"I'm a murderer, Lancelot."

And when Lancelot had protested, Merlin had shook his head and told him about all the other times he had had to kill someone, of dead bodies left behind and never thought of again – until now. Because this time, he couldn't rush on to save the day and tell himself it had been worth it.

Gwaine had paid little interest to this conversation, except to say: "sometimes people die, Merlin. It wasn't your fault this time." Lancelot doubted it had been helpful. Now Gwaine was pacing up and down his cell – he had to turn quite often – and looked as if he himself could kill an entire army if it got in his way. And then suddenly he kicked the bars and exclaimed:

"I can't believe I was so _fooled_!"

Merlin looked up at him.

"I'm sorry."

"Not by you, idiot. Though I didn't really see that coming either. But Arthur!"

Lancelot and Merlin were giving him matching confused looks.

"I was _so sure_ that he was ..."

He looked at Lancelot and interrupted himself.

"... that he really liked you."

Merlin let out a sad little laugh.

"He does."

Gwaine kicked the bars again.

"He has an interesting way of showing it."

Lancelot got the distinct impression that they were talking in code about something he'd missed.

"I've lied to him for years. He's angry. I don't blame him. And besides, I killed someone. If anything, this punishment is too mild."

Lancelot walked up to the bars between his cell and Merlin's, getting as close as he could. He could just about touch Merlin's shoulder.

"I think you're right not to blame Arthur. But you shouldn't blame yourself either."

Gwaine huffed.

"Don't blame yourself, but by all means, _do_ blame Arthur. He has no defence for acting like ..."

He spun around and looked at the stairs. A group of guards were coming down. Keys rattled and Merlin's cell was unlocked. Merlin stood up and was led away by the guards. Lancelot and Gwaine watched them leave.

"_'Too mild'_," Gwaine muttered. "A flogging can kill you! A _mild_ punishment would have been to just kick him out of town with a warning. I've had enough of both to know." He sat down in the hay strewn on the floor. Lancelot looked at him.

"I don't think so. The way he's devoted to Arthur – that would have been the worst punishment of all."

Gwaine gave him a puzzled look. Then a light spread over his face, he leaned back with his hands behind his head and laughed.

Now Lancelot was convinced he had missed something.

"What?"

"Oh, Lancelot. If ever there was a pair of stubborn idiots ..."

"I don't follow you."

"Let's just say," Gwaine said as he picked up a piece of fresh straw, inspected it and put it between his teeth, "by the time those two solve their problems, your problem will be solved too."

Lancelot still didn't follow, but Gwaine suddenly seemed hopeful and that was probably a good sign.

IYîYîYîYI

* * *

><p><em>AN: Wow, so much anger directed towards Arthur in the reviews, I'm torn between defending him and having Gwaine punch him in the face. I might do both. Either way, I'm glad I got your emotions going. Do tell me if and/or how this chapter changed your opinion._


	30. ---

**A/N: **_This chapter was removed and/or worked into another chapter during the re-editing, but has been kept (rather than deleted) so that the reviews of the following chapters will correspond to the correct chapter._


	31. Fire, Blood and Tears

**A/N:** _Yay, I'm back! To allow reviews, this is now chapter 31._

"_Fistful of Love" by Antony & The Johnsons. Still perhaps the most beautifully disturbing love song in the world._

_A short note on flogging/response to Ethel's review:_

_Somewhere in my Sunday school past, I heard that 40 lashes was considered a death sentence (ergo Jesus getting 39). In general I don't do research for this (going with the show's creators' rule of "Well, it has a talking dragon in it") but I looked it up and it turns out that's a load of bull. Yes, the Jewish courts had a maximum limit of 39 lashes, but unlike most civilizations back then, they weren't very big on physical punishment in general – others have, through history, handed out lashes by fifties and even hundreds. So, I t_hought_ ten lashes was pretty darn bad, but now that I have read up a bit, I agree that it wasn't. Just a short explanation of one reason for the sudden increase in brutality in this new version._

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_I tell you I love you, and I always will  
>And I know you can't tell me <em>

_So I'm left to pick up  
>The hints, the little symbols of your devotion<em>

_And I feel your fists,  
>and I know it's out of love<br>And I feel the whip,  
>and I know it's out of love<br>And I feel your burning eyes,  
>burning holes straight through my heart <em>

_It's out of love"_

- Antony & The Johnsons, _Fistful of Love_

IYîYîYîYI

**Fire, Blood and Tears**

When Leon left, no one disturbed Arthur for a long while. He almost imagined he could hear his heartbeats echoing in the great empty hall. It didn't bother him. He couldn't take one more word from anyone else. What did they know?

Hector was wrong. He couldn't kill Merlin. It was never an option, not when he remembered those smiles, those frowns, all the things, good and bad, that he had shared with Merlin and Merlin alone. Merlin who knew him better than anyone.

Leon was wrong. He couldn't just let Merlin go like nothing had happened, like nothing had changed. Not when everything had changed. Not when the man Arthur had thought he knew – the man he had _loved_ – had changed in front of him, _disappeared_ in front of him, and revealed a person Arthur didn't think he had ever met, and didn't want to meet. If his heart had to ripped out of his body, Arthur didn't want to have to look at it every day. He wanted to put it where he never had to think about it again. Keeping that man here wasn't worth the hassle and the outrage it would cause, and it certainly wasn't worth the pain.

IYîYîYîYI

Gwen remained outside, waiting. The banquet, that had never been finished, had been held early to allow Olaf and his party time to begin their journey home. Now it was late afternoon when they rode off, and the heat was stifling. Gwen was there to say goodbye to them. She didn't know which part of herself the calm front she showed them was coming from, but she was grateful for it. King Olaf sent greetings to Arthur that she promised to pass on. Adric shook her hand and said he hoped they would all meet again under better circumstances. Vivian threw worried glances at what was happening on the courtyard behind them. When Gwen came to shake her hand she whispered:

"They're not going to kill that servant boy, are they?"

Gwen assured her that they were not.

"Thank god! I thought he seemed so scared up there, poor thing."

When she left, Gwen didn't know whether to laugh or cry. And later, when Merlin was carried up from the dungeons, she ran to his side. He only looked at her for a second, and then cast his eyes to the ground, but she didn't blame him. She followed him all the way to the centre of the square, and when Kay grabbed his arm and led him up on the platform, the hangman turned his head and looked at her. For a second he looked sad, but then his face changed into a mask. She supposed that was what you had to do in a profession like that.

IYîYîYîYI

When Merlin had been taken outside and Gwaine had settled in his corner and closed his eyes, Lancelot went to where there was a tiny little window, close to the ceiling, leading out to the courtyard. He pushed as much straw as he could into a little pile, and when he stepped up on it he could just about see out of the window. The guards looked at him all the while, but didn't tell him to stop.

Merlin had cried. Quietly, but it was hard to hide in the dungeons.

"_See, Lancelot, I told you it was too late for Arthur to find out."_

"_Well, in his defence I still think he wouldn't have reacted like this if you had told him yourself."_

"_Maybe not. But we'll never find out now, will we?"_

Gwaine thought Lancelot had too much respect for Arthur. _"An unhealthy respect for nobles,"_ had been the words he had used. _"You and Merlin both."_

Merlin had scoffed and muttered something about telling Arthur that. Then he had hid his face in his hands again. Even if Gwaine might not realise what Merlin saw in Arthur, Lancelot thought he had an idea – but it was hard to remember today. From this vantage point he saw mostly legs, but sometimes he caught a glimpse of the little stage that was put up for this kind of occasions.

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin was led up to a pole and had his hands tied to it. He looked up at the balcony, and saw Arthur standing there. He looked back, but not straight at his eyes, focusing instead on some point right behind him.

_Aren't you even going to look at me, Arthur?_

"This man has been found guilty of practicing magic and of high treason. For these crimes he has been sentenced to fifty lashes and banishment from this realm."

Merlin stared. He gaped. He felt as if his head had been set on fire, slowly deteriorating in the heat. If Arthur said something more, he didn't hear it.

_Banishment._

_No. No. No. Not that. _

_You can't do that._

_You can't do that!_

The first lash struck him and he lost his breath. The pain shot out from his back through his limbs all the way to his toes and fingers (two). He forced himself to breathe (three).

IYîYîYîYI

When Arthur announced the sentence, Lancelot gripped the window bars tighter and Gwaine flew up from the floor.

"What?"

He tried to get as close to the window as possible, as if it would have been possible for him to see through it from his cell. "He's not actually going to do it?"

"It seems he is."

"No!" Gwaine shouted. "He was never actually going to do it!"

"I can't see why you thought he wouldn't, weren't we the ones with too much respect for nobles?"

Lancelot immediately regretted the snide remark.

"But he ..."

Gwaine went quiet when they heard the first crack of the whip.

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin tried to look at Arthur, but Arthur's eyes were still looking straight through him (four), and each time the whip struck (five, six, seven) his head would snap down reflexively. After a while (eight, nine, ten) he kept it down and just tried to think of the reasons why maybe he deserved this (eleven, twelve), at least this part (thirteen), forget about the other part (fourteen), you don't want to go thinking about that now (fifteen).

_That old witch who tried to avenge her son _(sixteen).

_Edwin, who tried to avenge his parents_ (seventeen).

_Sofia's father, who tried to get his daughter home _(eighteen).

_Sofia, who died crying out for her father_ (nineteen).

_The men Morgana hired to kill Uther, whom I left for dead_ (twenty).

He caught sight of Gwen and saw that she was looking back at him, crying, her face already shining wet.

_Don't look at her, just breathe _(twenty one).

He closed his eyes.

_Nimueh, who in all honesty deserved it_ (twenty two).

_Sigan, who was sort of already dead_ (twenty three).

_Hengist, who probably deserved it but looked pitiful and made an awful sound when the wilderen tore the flesh from his bones_ (twenty four).

_Morgana's eyes as the poison spread through her body, the last time she was still within reach_ (twenty five).

_The man who killed my father_ (twenty six). _He had it coming!_

_Sir William._ (Twenty seven.)

_All the nameless rouges or highwaymen or druids or enemy knights that I don't even know if I killed or not_ (twenty eight).

_All the people who died when the dragon attacked Camelot_ (twenty nine).

_I didn't know he would do that. Not when I promised him, _I promised him_! He had every right to be angry if this is how he was treated_ (thirty).

_All the people who died when Morgana and Morgause took over Camelot when I could have let Morgana die from the fall down the stairs_ (thirty one).

_That's _their_ fault, not mine!_ (Thirty two.)

(Thirty three.)

_Now what?_

His vision was getting blurry.

_I did it to save people_ (thirty four).

_To save_ your _sorry arse!_ (Thirty five.)

He hadn't noticed when his knees had buckled.

_I don't deserve this_ (thirty six).

_I don't deserve this, Arthur_ (thirty seven).

_I don't deserve this_ (thirty eight).

_I don't deserve this_ (thirty nine).

_I don't deserve this_ (forty).

_I don't deserve this_ (forty one).

_I don't deserve this_ (forty two).

(Forty three.)

His mind stopped providing him with words and turned into fire and pain.

Forty four.

Forty five.

Forty six.

Forty seven.

Forty eight.

Forty nine.

He fainted.

IYîYîYîYI

As Merlin's lifeless body was being carried off again, Gwen saw Gaius coming out onto the courtyard, with a look of absolute pain in his face. Gwen ran towards him.

"Gaius!" She quickly got in between him and the line of sight where he could have spotted Merlin. That wasn't something he needed to see.

"Gwen? What is this! Where's Merlin? Is he alright? Why has nobody told me this was going on?"

She shook her head and hugged him.

"He _will _be alright, Gaius. Somehow this will all be alright, I promise. I don't know how, but I promise, I promise."

Warm tears were rolling down her face. She could feel the old man shaking. If this killed him, she would never forgive Arthur.


	32. Night Falls

_Author's Note of Doom (feel free to skip it) :__**Small response to questions/remarks:**__ Gaius mentions, in the show, a present he got from Alice on his 50th birthday. Add to that the probably 21 years between the great purge and the beginning of the show, and the five years between that and the beginning of this story, Gaius is an old, old man now (which is also mentioned earlier in the story). He can't be running around at banquets. And I don't know if the word banquet in itself means something held in the evening, but the explanation for why it wasn't is in the story. I know in the show punishments are usually carried out the next day, but I think both Arthur and I knew that if he slept on it he might change his mind._

_I write because I like it, not because I think I'm great at it. I'm a visual person and for me it's all about the drama and the broad strokes. The detail won't always fit, because in writing as in every other part of life I'm not a great planner, but as you can see I try to have some kind of explanation, even if it is a poor one. _

_That said, I'm glad most of you (even most of you who raise these understandable questions) seem to be enjoying yourselves. That's all I ask._

_Even before the last chapter a lot of people expressed the fear that this was getting very dark. To avoid the situation where the following chapters make you stop reading, I will not give away plot points, but I can tell you that I don't like it either when fics leave you with nothing but angst and tears. Unless they're effing perfectly written, and like I said I don't flatter myself that this is._

_Now, since I do not wish to be eaten, here's more: the end of this day that threatened to last forever._

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_This grief overwhelms me, it burns in my stomach  
>And I can't stop bumping into things<em>

_I thought we'd be simple together  
>I thought we'd be happy together<br>Thought we'd be limitless together  
>I thought we'd be precious together<em>

_But I was sadly mistaken"_

- Alanis Morissette,_ Simple Together_

IYîYîYîYI

**Night Falls**

At the first sound on the stairs, Lancelot and Gwaine flew up quicker than their guards did.

"Merlin?" Gwaine called up the stairs, but no answer came. All was quiet as three guards came into view, carrying Merlin between them down the stairs. Lancelot felt his heart break a little at the pitiful sight.

"Oh, no ... come on, please, you can't put him down here in that state, just take him to Gaius, take him to the physician, please!"

A string of ugly words left Gwaine's mouth.

The guards looked at them, but didn't reply. Instead they carried Merlin into his cell, carefully lay him down on his side, and then ran out as quickly as their legs would carry them. Lancelot kept trying to argue with them to at least go get Gaius or Emma to come down there, while Gwaine dived to the bars to try and get a life sign from Merlin. When Merlin eventually moved his shaking hands, it was only to put them over his ears. He didn't even open his eyes to them. The three guards who had brought Merlin left without another word.

Lancelot felt about ready to cry, and Gwaine looked ready to kill someone, when new steps echoed down the stairs and Emma and Gwen came down into dungeons. Gwen was carrying a pile of blankets and Emma a large basket.

"Guinevere!"

Lancelot couldn't keep himself from crying out to her. He realised it hadn't been half a day since he saw her last, but with everything that had happened it felt like months. She looked up at him and he could see she had been crying. Any remaining sympathy he had felt for Arthur flew out the window.

"Hello Lancelot," she replied with a tiny smile, and turned to the guards who had stood up when she'd arrived and were busy bowing at her and greeting her and telling her this was no place for such a fine lady as she.

"First I will ask you to do the right thing and let these men out."

The guards stared first at her, then at each other, then down at their feet when one of them answered:

"We can't do that, my lady, though we are frightfully sorry to deny you anything."

Gwen nodded. She clearly hadn't expected anything else.

"Then do the second best and let the physician in."

The man who had answered her immediately began to fumble with the keys and unlocked the door to Merlin's cell. In his eagerness he even bowed slightly to Emma as she walked past him.

IYîYîYîYI

Gwen felt the tears threatening to return when she saw Merlin stretched out on the floor, bloody and lifeless. Emma quickly knelt beside him, felt his pulse and tried to get some response out of him.

"Merlin? Do you hear me? I'm going to try to wash and dress your wounds, alright?"

Gwen's heart jumped when Merlin hummed quietly in response. Emma put a hand on Merlin's shoulder as she washed the blood off his back with steady, soft movements and a concentrated look on her face. Gwen could see she'd be an excellent physician.

"Gaius found out," Emma told Merlin. "I tried so hard to keep it all away from him, but I couldn't. I'm so sorry. But I stopped him from coming down here. He was so upset, it wouldn't have done him any good to see you like this."

"Thanks," Merlin whispered.

"At least it hasn't cut down to the bone," Emma continued and looked up at Gwen. "I think you got through to Kay."

Gwen only nodded. It hardly felt as if she had done anything good. Not when Merlin was lying on that floor. She could see he was crying, but Emma and the men pretended not to notice, so Gwen did too. She looked at Lancelot, who was watching the pair in the other cell with a deep frown. She had never been surer that she had made the wrong choice.

After a while Emma had put a bandage around as much of Merlin's wounds as she could cover, helped him into a clean shirt and wrapped a blanket around him. She looked him in the eye.

"I haven't gotten to know you very well, Merlin ... But I'm so, so sorry this is happening. It feels like it has to be one big misunderstanding."

Merlin closed his eyes.

"No misunderstanding. 'm a sorcerer. Pendragons hate sorcerers."

Gwen cringed. The words sounded so strange coming from Merlin's mouth, like a foreign language. It had always been such a frightening word: sorcerer. A word that recalled danger, disease, starvation, and that look in Morgana's eyes: the one that finally had made Gwen realise that they had stopped being friends a long time ago. For a second, she could understand Arthur's reaction perfectly.

But Merlin wasn't like Morgana. Merlin had never turned his back on them.

Emma reached out and touched his cheek.

"That's not all you are. He'll remember that, soon. I've seen it, remember?"

"Could you leave, please?"

Merlin's voice quavered and broke. Emma stood up and walked out of the cell.

"Don't cry over King Prat, Merlin," Gwaine said with unusual softness. "He's not worth your tears."

Gwen thought she should go in and say something; this was her friend, she loved him, and he needed her, right? But then again, what could she possibly say that would make anything any better?

"Don't give up, Merlin. We all still love you. Things will work out, somehow. I know they will. It can't end like this."

He didn't give any sign of having heard her. The guard locked the door. She looked at Lancelot. This time he met her gaze.

IYîYîYîYI

Gwen's feet carried her up to the room she shared with Arthur, but they stopped at the door and her hand wouldn't reach out to open it. The thought of meeting Arthur on the other side, once a source of joy, was now revolting.

When she stood there staring dumbly at the door, a maid came rushing up to her.

"I'm sorry, my lady, but cook wondered if you and his majesty want supper, my lady. Especially since the banquet was cancelled, my lady."

The maid curtsied more than could possibly be required by any standards.

"Oh ... I don't know ..."

She hadn't thought about food at all. She supposed she should be starving, but she didn't think she could swallow even water right now.

"No, thank you. I'm going straight to sleep."

The maid smiled, and curtsied again, and ran off, but then came running back, curtsied and said:

"Oh, she didn't want me to tell you, my lady, but Elaine went off to see her family, I wouldn't say it was my business, my lady, except it didn't sound as if she would be back in a while and I thought you would want to know, my lady."

Gwen couldn't care less. When the maid had disappeared for good she turned around and walked toward Lancelot's room.

IYîYîYîYI

When Arthur finally made it to his room, there were no servants there and no sign of Guinevere. He was actually relieved. He walked across to the bed. Outside the window it was already dark, but he could see the outline of the little stage on the square and the pole that Merlin's hands had been tied to. A quiver went down his spine. He looked down and noticed that his hands were shaking again.

Within the count of ten his entire body broke down. He barely had time to reach for the washing-bowl before what little he had eaten that day came up again. And when it had, his body still kept heaving, forcing up water and gall. His head felt like a storm was raging through it, hurling heavy objects against the inside of his skull. His body shook as if he had been thrown headfirst into a winter lake. Not just his hands and feet, not just his arms and legs, but even the muscles in his back and his chest shuddered and convulsed until every new shiver hurt as if after the worst battle of his life. If he had actually been on a battle ground this pain would have made him surrender and beg, kingdom be damned – but there was no one here to grant him any mercy.

He didn't make it to the bed. He collapsed on the floor and curled up on himself. When the last of the sour liquid had left him he managed to reach out a hand, pull down the cover from the bed and clumsily spread it over his shaking body.


	33. People We Once Knew, Part One

A/N: An unfinished version of this was uploaded a while ago for about 10 min. Sorry about the tease. This chapter is a bit weird. I had to chop it to peices because it just grew and grew, so the separate units might feel a bit, well, chopped off.

Clarification/Review Reply Nina: _I totally agree with all you're saying in a modern day, real life context. But in a world/time/culture where this punishment was legal, culturally accepted and even culturally expected, surely the trauma would be of an entirely different type than it would in an abusive relationship? Arthur, as King, having Merlin, as a confirmed lawbreaker, punished with what is actually a milder punishment than the law dictates __**is not, in my mind, comparable**__ with domestic abuse. There are some similarities, but it's so far from being the same thing. Also, wouldn't something like the flogging affect a person who's already lived through a lot (like Merlin) in a different way than someone for whom it is the first real trauma? Though it would naturally still be traumatic, and I hope you won't think I'm sweeping it under the rug. Normally I'd try to get my point across by making it clear in the story instead of writing long author's notes, but __**I want it to be absolutely clear that I do not in any way encourage anyone to stay with an abusive partner**__. Don't do that. Real life is not a fairy tale._

Review Reply Caterine: _You read my mind! Mumford & Sons are already written into an upcoming chapter._

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_Well, if you told me you were drowning  
>I would not lend a hand<br>I've seen your face before my friend  
>But I don't know if you know who I am"<em>

_- Phil Collins, In The Air Tonight_

IYîYîYîYI

**People We Once Knew**

**Part One**

Lancelot sat leaning against the wall and watched Merlin and Gwaine sleep. The gray light in the dungeons gradually turned golden. He remembered the first time he had met Merlin, and the enthusiastic, passionate, ever grinning boy that Merlin had been then. How much he had wanted to help, had enjoyed helping. _"Merlin would do anything for anyone, wouldn't you Merlin?" _Gwen had said. The next time they met, he had already changed. Grown a bit older, a bit more realistic, maybe even a little bit harder. Still ready to help anyone, but with one clear priority: Arthur. Now, there wasn't much boyishness left in Merlin at all. Lancelot had watched how it had gradually worn him down to keep hiding and lying to Arthur. And yet every time he had tried to bring it up with Merlin, tried to get him to tell Arthur the truth, Merlin had refused – refused to follow his advice, and usually refused to talk about it all. Maybe this was what he had feared. After all, he knew Arthur better than Lancelot did.

Gwaine lay sleeping close to the bars between his cell and Merlin's. His hand was stretched in between the bars, not quite reaching the other man. Lancelot wondered if it was something he'd done in his sleep or if he had actually tried to touch Merlin and stubbornly remained in that position. Since he met Gwaine, Lancelot had constantly had to re-evaluate him. At first he had seemed like a brash, careless adventurer. Now, Lancelot had decided that he probably was, but an adventurer with more morals than he pretended to have, more method and motive to his boldness than he appeared to have, and a much bigger heart than he would ever let on. And he clearly had a soft spot for Merlin. In an unguarded moment he had told Lancelot that he had never had any other friends than them, and Lancelot had registered the way he looked at Merlin when he said it: like a drowning man looks at a lifeline. What Merlin was trying to be to Arthur, he clearly already was to Gwaine.

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur woke to find that at some point during the night he had crawled into bed and managed to put his head on an actual pillow. Still, his head was filled with fog and his muscles ached. He had dreamt again, but all of it that remained in his memory other than real memories of the day before – Merlin's body being mutilated and Morgana shaking her head and saying "poor Arthur" – was an image of his father dressed in full armour and the strange image of his mother, drenched and desperate, reaching out for him. Something in the way the air felt and the way the mattress shaped beneath him told him without him having to look that Guinevere still wasn't there. He looked at the window and saw that the sun hadn't quite risen yet. Unbidden the image rose to his mind of pale hands pulling the curtains away and an unbearably cheeky grin wishing him good morning. He squeezed his eyes shut. _Don't think. Just move_.

He got up, washed himself off and began to put on a new set of clothes. That released a new stream of memories: of hands pulling garments over his head, adjusting his jacket, straightening out the sleeves, hands so close but never quite touching him, flickering across his body and making his guts twirl in desire while he schooled his face into a mask of indifference. And now it was getting hard to breathe. _It's only because I'm tired_.

Someone knocked on the door. The sound almost annoyed him these days. Merlin had never learnt to knock. _Stop it!_

"Come in."

Leon came in and closed the door, and proceeded to look at Arthur in silence.

"You're disappointed with me," Arthur guessed.

"No, my lord. I see the grounds of your decision. I'm merely surprised."

It was an interesting thing to spend time with a man who could handle everything with such calm. Sometimes it had the effect of calming you down as well. Other times it was simply frustrating.

"It was the only thing I could do."

"Some would say that a king can do anything he wants."

"But you and I both know that's not true," Arthur said. He walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out a jacket.

"I'm only king as long as I have the support of the knights, the nobles and the people. My father won this kingdom with hard work and iron will. I could lose it with a couple of rash decisions."

Leon stood as still as a statue.

"The problem is that you don't know which those decisions will be until you have already made them, and maybe not even then. You might need the knights, the nobles and the people, but if you have two out of three then you can afford to act and wait for the third to come around."

Arthur felt himself losing patience for no reason at all.

"Are you here to teach me politics or did you actually have something to tell me?"

Leon cleared his throat.

"One of the knights told me that Sir Hector held a meeting yesterday evening with a small group of knights. Mostly older ones. Nothing actually rebellious, but he had told them that now that magic had been discovered so close to the throne they should keep their eyes open. The knight who came to me had gotten the impression that Hector was telling them to keep an eye on _you_. Waiting for you to make a mistake. If it's true, it could mean that his got his sight set on the throne."

"See?" Arthur replied. "This was my point. Now imagine if I had done what you told me and allowed Merlin to stay, then what wouldn't Hector have been telling them? And where would we have been able to go from there?"

Leon didn't answer. Arthur calmed himself.

"That said, I always have been and always will be grateful for your advice, and for the fact that you have never tried to force it on me. You are a good friend, Leon. Thank you."

"I do my best, my lord. I realise the situation is complicated. To make it more so, some of the knights who were _not _at this meeting are upset that Gwaine and Lancelot are being held in the dungeons, especially since no one has said for how long they'll be detained. They feel it's more fitting for a knight to be reprimanded by being put under arrest in his chambers."

Arthur nodded.

"I'll see to that."

IYîYîYîYI

There was something of a racket as Arthur, Gaius and five guards came down into the dungeons. Gwaine woke up, and instantly got to his feet with fire in his eyes. Merlin pulled himself into an awkward, half-sitting position that made his face go gray.

Lancelot rose slowly. He could have laughed at the image before him if it wasn't so depressingly real: the three men he admired most in the world – days ago they had all been best friends, now they were looking at each other as if they had never met before.

Arthur gestured at the guards who had been sitting with them through the night to step forward.

"Open the doors. Let the physician in to see his patient, let Sir Gwaine go and escort Sir Lancelot to his chambers where he is to be put under guard for three more days for having lied to his king."

"Thanks," Gwaine said, "but I'd rather stay here, actually."

No one paid him any attention.

Merlin's door was opened first. A guard followed Gaius in and the door was locked again behind them. Slowly getting down to his knees beside Merlin, Gaius looked at least five years older than the last time Lancelot had seen him.

"Shdn't be here," Merlin muttered.

"Shut up, Merlin," came the grumpy but heart-wrenchingly affectionate reply. The guard who had followed Gaius helped him get Merlin into a more upright position and Gaius began to study the bandages that Emma had put on.

Next Lancelot's own door was opened, and two guards escorted him out.

"Arthur, listen to me. You are making a mistake. I understand what you are thinking but Merlin is not the enemy. He has never done anything but helped you ..."

Something about Arthur's eyes shut him up. Arthur was looking straight at him, but there was nothing behind those eyes that was listening. It was as if he was dead. It sent a chill down Lancelot's spine. The man who had been the first to give Lancelot a chance to prove himself, the sometimes childlike, sometimes godlike man, righteous and proud, loving and impulsive, the man Lancelot would gladly fight and die for – where was he now? _Where have you gone, Arthur?_

"Take him away."

The two guards grabbed Lancelot's arms and steered him towards the stairs. Gwaine's door was opened. Before anyone could react Gwaine had hurled himself at Arthur and landed a fist below his left eye. Arthur staggered. The other two guards leapt to restrain Gwaine, but before they had managed to do so he had followed up the first punch with a second and aimed a kick at Arthur's legs which would have done a lot more damage had not the guards yanked him back and made him lose his balance. Gwaine struggled and fought in the guards' grip until the poor men looked quite frightened.

Arthur hadn't even fought back. He just reached to touch his cheek , slowly, as if he was surprised that it hurt.

_Wake up, Arthur. Please, just wake up._

"Should we lock him up again, sire?" asked the guard who was desperately clinging to Gwaine's left arm.

"No," Arthur answered, eyes locked on the blood that was now on his fingers but originated from a gash on his cheek. "Just put him under guard in his room as well."

Lancelot's guards got to moving again and the dungeons disappeared from view. From below he heard Gwaine say his goodbyes to Arthur before he was dragged up the stairs after them:

"If you think I'll stay in this place an hour longer than Merlin, you are sadly mistaken."

Lancelot couldn't hear a reply, and he doubted there had been one. He almost envied Gwaine. To be able to just get up and go when things turned sour. Unlike Gwaine, Lancelot was tied to more than one person in Camelot. Guinevere still held a piece of his heart in her hands, and, no matter how much Lancelot's respect for him was faltering, so did Arthur.

IYîYîYîYI

It had been even more uncomfortable than Arthur had expected to come down into the dungeons. Locked up and out numbered the three men before him had still seemed like such a unit that Arthur had felt like an intruder. As a man he might have been a part of that unit, or one like it – as king, he was immediately disqualified.

Lancelot had tried to reason with him, of course. He wouldn't be Lancelot if he hadn't. It had always been difficult to be angry at Lancelot. How can you be angry with a man who never thinks of himself but always of the weak and the mistreated, a man who is the model of loyalty and honesty, a good friend, an excellent warrior and a perfect gentleman? Any time Arthur had found himself blaming or even just envying Lancelot it had only ended in self-loathing. Now that he had absolute proof, a confession even, that Lancelot had been hiding things from him, it should have been easier. It wasn't. Because Arthur knew himself well enough to know it wasn't only because Lancelot had lied that he was angry, it wasn't because Lancelot had been hiding a criminal or because the knight had somehow fallen of his pedestal, on the contrary – it was because Lancelot once again seemed to be closer in confidence with someone Arthur loved than he was himself. It was only jealousy.

Gwaine had also been true to his character. Arthur gingerly touched his aching face as he turned towards the cells again. Gaius and Merlin both looked up at him, Gaius pausing in his ministrations. It was like confronting someone in front of their father.

He had tried to prepare himself for seeing Merlin again, but how could he? He had tried to shut his feelings away, but he still felt like he was split in fragments when he met those blue eyes. He was the betrayed friend, angry beyond reason; the troubled politician who was seeing so few ways out; the little boy so afraid of magic; the ugly animal inside saying it was a shame that such a desirable body should be covered in scars; the judge and prosecutor saying the law had been carried out; and after all this, no matter how much he tried to suffocate it, there was still the grief, confusion and misguided hope of the lovesick idiot. But love was only salt in the wounds now, making all the other feelings so much stronger.

The first question that came to mind was the first one to leave his lips:

"Why didn't you just leave, Merlin?"

IYîYîYîYI

"_Why didn't you just leave, Merlin?"_

Gaius lifted a bandage and put something on one of Merlin's wounds that made lights flicker in front of his eyes for a moment.

"What?" he attempted to say – he wasn't entirely sure what it came out as.

_What the hell is that supposed to mean?_

"Why didn't you just leave, Merlin? Break out of here the moment you had gotten the sentence? The way you handled Morgana, a couple of tired prison guards wouldn't have been much of a match."

Said prison guards squirmed uncomfortably.

"You could have been far away from Camelot by now, saved us both this ... This."

Arthur looked down on him. His eyes were shining with something Merlin couldn't define, but which looked like disapproval, and his voice was cold and even. Gaius treated another wound and Merlin flinched. He suspected Gaius was keeping his eyes on Arthur rather than on Merlin's back.

"You know why," Merlin said.

_Do you want me to leave Arthur? Have I suddenly gone from someone you were desperate to keep around, someone you _wanted_, to someone you can't wait to be rid of? And do you really think I'll make it that easy for you?_

"No, I don't," Arthur said. "I don't know anything about you."

There was only one answer to such a stupid statement:

"Then nobody does."

Arthur didn't reply. Merlin had the sudden urge to say something, anything, to wipe that cold masque of his face and make him react, to get Arthur to show him what was really going on in that thick skull of his. The anger was waking him up, giving him energy, blocking out the pain. And he was tired of being looked through like he was window glass.

"Where would I go, Arthur? What would I do if I ran away? I have nothing anywhere else. This is my life: in Camelot, with you! If that's over, if you want to punish me, then kill me. I'd rather die than go."

"Because your plans have been spoiled?"

"Because if I don't have our friendship, I have nothing!"

Arthur exploded.

"Don't say that! Don't lie to me! Don't you dare lie to me ever again!"

"It's not a lie!"

It hurt his body to scream, but still it felt so good – like ridding yourself of something that had been burning inside of you. And this, at least, seemed to be mutual.

"Every word out of your mouth might as well be a lie!"

The masque was definitely falling now, and a small part of Merlin felt a wave of triumphant glee.

"I lied about _magic_! It's_ one thing_!

"It is not one thing! It's a _thousand things_, a thousand times you've lied to me without blinking! I spend every single day with you and every day you have lied to me, you have hidden things from me, you have made me believe I have done things that I haven't, and you were _never going to tell me_!"

"Yes I was!"

"WHEN?"

"_Please, Gentlemen!_"

Gaius interrupted them and everything went quiet. Merlin became aware that the two guards outside the cell and the one guard inside it were all staring at him and Arthur.

"Though I hesitate to use the word," Gaius muttered.

"It's not your business, Gaius," Arthur said without looking away from Merlin.

"There's something you need to know, my lord, before this gets any worse."

"I don't want to hear it!"

The guard in the cell reached for Gaius with a nervous look in his eyes and pulled at his sleeve to make him sit back down.

"I was always going to tell you," Merlin whispered, as much to himself as to Arthur.

"Really? And what were you going to say? Were you going to tell me the whole story? Were you going to tell me about the dragon, too?"

_What?_ Merlin's mind went blank.

"The dragon, _Mer_lin. Morgana said you can talk to dragons. Like a Dragonlord. The calling that passes on from father to son? The way you cried over Balinor, the way you acted during that trip, I should have seen it. The way you had the audacity to _apologise_ for the dragon's attack, right to my face, without telling me why! _You're_ the one who sent it away, and you're the one who let it out, too!"

"You don't know that!"

Why did he do this? Why did he still hurry to defend his secrets, when there were no secrets to defend anymore?

"Didn't you?"

"Yes. But I didn't know what he would do!"

"It's a dragon, Merlin, what _did_ you expect? They're_ evil_!"

Merlin barely had time to think about the fact that he had just lied to Arthur again, when Arthur's generalisation made him lose his temper once more. Without thinking he broke free from Gaius and the guard and stood up. Immediately pain shot through him and the world started spinning.

"He's no more evil than _you _are, Arthur Pendragon! You're both stubborn, stupid and entirely merciless! You're no different than your father!"

Arthur's face was turning red, and it was good, it was honest._ Are we being honest now? Are we finally being honest with each other, and it ends up being like this? Us riling each other up? Us trying to hurt each other?_ Merlin could hear his heartbeat fast and erratic like a giant drum in his head.

"I have shown you mercy! _This_ is the mercy Merlin!"

It was a good thing Arthur didn't have magic, because the dungeons might have come crumbling down if he'd had.

"That's funny because it feels like punishment!"

"It's _both_!"

Merlin fell. The guard caught him, probably more from instinct than anything else. Gaius looked about ready to faint himself. Arthur quickly ordered the guards not to speak a word of anything that had been said down here to anyone else if they wanted to stay in Camelot.

Gaius spoke in his hardest voice, the one that sounded like the voice of a prophet proclaiming the wrath of his god:

"Arthur Pendragon, I am ashamed of you."

"Don't you dare give me that, Gaius! I've spared his life, I'm letting him go, no one has said a word about you helping him hide and no one will. That's more than either of you could expect!"

"It's not your implementation of the law that troubles me most, it's the complete lack of pity you show afterwards!"

Arthur took a step backwards.

"As soon as he can walk out of Camelot on his own two feet, that's exactly what he'll do."

"I'm not going to go anywhere without you, do you hear me?"

Merlin didn't know where those words came from, but Arthur paled. One of the guards outside the cell took a step forward.

"Is that a threat?" he asked. Merlin could have laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Arthur snapped at him.

"Yeah," Merlin said, "I don't need to threaten him. Without me he'll get killed within a month!"

"Good!" Arthur snapped back.

Once again the room went quiet, and this time no one broke the silence for a long time. In the end Arthur looked away and began to leave.

"At least let me take him upstairs where I can treat the wounds!" Gaius called after him.

"If he's well enough to shout at me, he's well enough to stay here. You and Emma can come and go as you like, the guards will let you in."

Arthur disappeared. Merlin closed his eyes.

_It's not "good"._

_Nothing is good at all._

IYîYîYîYI

* * *

><p><span>AN: _As a side-note regarding trauma that stays with you: at fourteen my best and then only friend lied to me about a lot of things, and went over the top when she told me she had been sexually abused by her cousin only to tell me_ a year later _that it had been a lie. It ruined our friendship completely and permanently. Ten years later I still can't listen to a word coming out of that woman's mouth without thinking: "Are you lying right now?"- I try telling myself she's not a teenager anymore, but it's hopeless. I still don't know what the truth of it was. That was a worse lie (imho) and a less affectionate relationship to start with than in this story, but now you know something of where I'm coming from as I write this._


	34. People We Once Knew, Part Two

A/N: _Just want to mention, I'll be putting off watching series 4 until this is finished. SO __Anyone who gives me spoilers for series 4 will be spit-roasted in fire. Slowly.__ And not get another word of this. Please respect this. Consider yourselves warned_.

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_When my back is turned  
><em>_my bruises shine  
>Our broken fairytale<br>so hard to hide_

_I still believe  
>it's you and me 'til the end of time"<em>

- Biffy Clyro,_ Many of Horror_

IYîYîYîYI

**People We Once Knew**

**Part Two**

As soon as Arthur was out of both sight and earshot, Merlin pushed Gaius away with as much force as he could muster up. The old man looked at him with a look of so much confusion, compassion and outright grief that Merlin nearly changed his mind – but no, this was how it had to be:

"Leave it Gaius. You can go."

The guard in the cell stood up and the guards outside unlocked the door.

"I need to redress all the wounds, Merlin. They're not infected, but down here I wouldn't count on them staying that way."

"Good. The longer it takes for them to heal, the longer I stay in Camelot."

Merlin grabbed the blanket Emma had brought him and managed to pull it back around himself.

"Merlin, don't be such a stubborn fool. You should get well, go and visit your mother for a while, and give the rest of us some time to knock some sense into Arthur."

"I don't have time! Morgana is planning something, you know it! And I don't think anyone is going to able to knock sense into Arthur. If that worked, the number of times he's been knocked out he'd be a genius by now."

Gaius gave him a pleading look, and then asked the guard to help him redress Merlin's wounds anyway. Merlin didn't believe his ears. He turned to the guard and looked the man in the eye.

"I'm in here for sorcery. If you touch me, I could set your hands on fire. I've got nothing left to lose."

"_Merlin!_"

The guard hastily grabbed Gaius' arm and dragged the chocked old man out of the cell instead. Gaius shook his head.

"I hope you think you know what you're doing, Merlin," he said before he left. The frightened guard looked at Merlin. Merlin pulled the blanket tighter around himself and lay down on his side to rest. The wounds smarted when he adjusted to the floor. It was still only morning, but his head was spinning, and he didn't have anything better to do.

IYîYîYîYI

When they arrived at his room, the guards who had escorted Lancelot placed themselves on either side of the door and ordered him to get in. As he turned the handle he thought about the guards who had led Gwaine away and predicted that they'd had to use a bit more force. Of course there wasn't a guard in Camelot who could actually defeat Gwaine in combat, but Gwaine would rein himself in – he'd want to stay around and see how this played out, not make himself impossible right away.

When he closed the door, he heard a noise behind him and spun around. Gwen stood beside the screen, arms wrapped around herself, hair tousled and eyes wide.

"Guinevere! What are you doing here?"

She stepped towards him.

"I slept in here. I couldn't bear to sleep in the same bed as Arthur after what happened, not after seeing Merlin like that. I didn't know where else to go. I didn't want to bother Elyan. He worships Arthur. Please, don't be angry with me."

He wasn't angry with her. He couldn't ever be. But his mind immediately went to the guards outside.

"I'm not angry with you."

He reached out and pulled Gwen into a hug. She leant her forehead against his shoulder and wrapped her soft arms around his waist.

"But you shouldn't be here, Gwen. There are guards outside the door."

"I don't care," she whispered.

How easy it would be to lean down and kiss her, to forget about all the reasons he shouldn't.

"But I care. Not for Arthur's sake, but for your own, you should leave."

She looked up at him.

"What happened?" she said. "Did they release Gwaine and Merlin too?"

He told her what Gwaine had done. She didn't seem neither sympathetic or gleeful to hear it. She only showed a small sign of disappointment when he told her that he didn't know what had been said between Arthur and Merlin but that he supposed Merlin was either still down there or on his way out of the town already. She nodded and vowed that if he was still down there she would at least make sure he had some more blankets and decent food. She straightened her back and looked as if she was about to leave.

"What will you say to the guards?" Lancelot asked.

Gwen smiled.

"You forget that I grew up a servant in this castle. I know it better than the people who thought this was a good place to lock anyone up. There's a servant's entrance behind that tapestry."

She pointed at a big ugly greenish tapestry of something that Lancelot thought might have been supposed to be a boar. Then she went up on tiptoes and kissed him.

Lancelot didn't take his eyes of her until she had disappeared from sight. Even when she looked sad and tired and had slept in her clothes, she still looked regal. Again Lancelot was struck by memories of his first time in Camelot, and his meeting with the shy but fast-talking maid. He remembered her smile and her little giggle when he'd said "I'm not a knight yet, my lady" and she had replied "and I'm no lady". In his eyes she had always been a lady. Maybe in her eyes he had always been a knight.

IYîYîYîYI

All that day Arthur performed his duties as usual. He could tell that people were looking at him differently. Looks of compassion, looks of anger, looks of suspicion – sometimes it was hard to tell which was which. Whenever he wasn't needed he locked himself away and slept. He couldn't bear other people's company anymore, and he couldn't bear his own.

The following day, he walked into the room hours before he would normally go to sleep, and found Guinevere already there. They looked at each other in silence for a while.

Then he simply nodded to her and said "Guinevere" before he sat down on the bed and began taking off his boots.

IYîYîYîYI

When Gwen couldn't stand the silence any longer, she blurted out:

"Aren't you going to ask where I've been?"

Arthur put down his first boot and moved on to the second.

"It doesn't take a genius to figure out, does it?"

The words might have been harsh but the tone was flat, as if he was reading out a line in a manuscript. She waited for the reproach, the anger that he had seemed to be overflowing with recently. It didn't come.

"I'll sleep in Elyan's room tonight," she said to test the waters. He looked at her wistfully.

"Alright." He put away the boots and remained seated perfectly still on the bed. He looked like a little boy. Without consent from her head, Gwen's heart went out to him. She walked up to face him.

"I don't understand!" she said. "I mean, I do understand. I understand that you feel angry, and hurt, and I understand that you can't just change the law overnight. And I'm as scared of magic as anyone else, and I remember what it was like, losing Morgana. But it wasn't finding out she was a sorceress that hurt, or even that she had been hiding it. It was realising that she had stopped being my friend. That she didn't care about us anymore. This isn't like that! This is about Merlin, and Merlin is still your friend!"

"Hardly 'still'," Arthur muttered.

"I know he lied to you, but is that really so hard to understand? What would you have done? If you had a secret that you knew could have destroyed your friendship, would you have told him?"

Arthur stared at her.

"You could have just sent him home to his mother, out of Camelot, spared him. You still could, instead of leaving him down there for another night!"

"And then he'll be gone," Arthur whispered.

"Isn't that what you want?"

"No! I mean, yes, but ... I don't know."

He hid his face in his hands.

"I feel like I'm falling apart. I don't know if I'm following my head or my heart or neither by now. Just that I'm failing miserably. I try to do the right thing, but for days every single thing I've done have just made everything worse. I screamed at him, yesterday. Things that ..." He sighed deeply. "Even now there are things that should have remained secret but I had to go put my foot in my mouth again."

He looked up at her. His face softened.

"I'm sorry, Guinevere. I should never have asked you to marry me."

Without warning, Gwen felt as if she had been stabbed in her heart.

"Don't say that."

Arthur just shook his head.

"It's unfair to you. You should have married Lancelot."

"Stop it! I made my choice." She didn't understand why she was getting so upset, when the words echoed her own thoughts the last days so very well. "I don't love you any less than I love Lancelot."

He smiled at her, a sad little smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Nor Lancelot any less than you love me."

_No, I don't._

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be. I don't blame you for how you feel. I promise. I just ... get so very jealous some times. I can't help it. It's another one of my weaknesses. I know Lancelot is a much better man than I am, and he would have been a much better husband."

She could feel herself beginning to cry.

"You_ are_ a good man, Arthur. That's why everyone is so surprised ..."

"You mean disappointed."

"... and I might think you've been wrong, but I also know you'll find a way to put everything right again, I know you will. Just ... try to think about it!"

"I have, Guinevere. But right now, I don't even know what 'right' would mean, even less how to achieve it."

Gwen looked at the door. She had meant to leave again.

In the end, she stayed, sleeping with her back to Arthur, wondering if she would ever really understand him again.

IYîYîYîYI

The two days blended together for Merlin as he drifted through the twilight land between consciousness and sleep. He could only tell time from the light increasing and decreasing and the meals Emma brought him. The pain from his back wasn't bad enough to keep him in that state, but the idleness and the apathy that had overtaken him was. He wondered a few times if he couldn't actually have pulled himself out of Camelot even like this, but he wasn't going to be the one to bring it up.

"Gaius thinks you're being a stubborn idiot," Emma said one of the times she was down and tried to smile.

Merlin took a sip of soup.

"Must be something going around."

He liked Emma. She was becoming good physician, and she acted like one, unmoved by the circumstances. Gwen came down a couple of times as well. She clearly tried to act like nothing had changed between them, and he could see that she cared for him, and pitied him, but it was also painfully obvious that she'd become a bit jumpy around him. He guessed with her experience of magic, he couldn't blame her.

When he was alone it was sometimes hard to tell the difference between dream and reality. He thought he saw his mother, and felt her hand stroking his forehead like she had done when he had been ill as a child; she whispered to him and told him how brave he was. He thought it might have been an actual memory, and for a while he was nearly determined to give up on Camelot and just go home. When the pain grew, he dreamt of the sound the whip had made flying through the air, and the sound his flesh had made being hit by it. A few times he heard Freya singing, and he caught glimpses of her smile in the corner of his eye. He saw Morgana standing over him, shaking her head, asking him why he persisted in supporting Arthur when Arthur was happy to leave him like this. And over and over and over, he was sure Arthur was there: Arthur glaring and yelling at him; Arthur crying and begging his forgiveness; Arthur staring at him coldly in silence until Merlin woke up with tears on his cheeks and the pain in his back worse than ever. Each time he had to wake up to a reality where Arthur was somewhere else, waiting for Merlin to heal and leave.

Once only, he dreamt he was back in Arthur's bed with sun shining through the window and Arthur's warm arms wrapped around him. Arthur whispered something to him, but when Merlin woke up in the cell he couldn't remember what it had been.

The one thing he couldn't tell if it had been dream or reality even afterwards was the voice of Kilgharrah echoing through his head, since the dragon had always been able to contact him like that.

"Why so sad, little warlock?"

If the dragon was indeed somewhere nearby, maybe he could hear Merlin's reply.

"Because the man you told me I was destined to help and follow has struck me down and is throwing me out of his kingdom. It's all over before it had really begun. Now what do you have to say to me?"

Merlin didn't know if it was Kilgarrah answering or just some deeply buried hope in his own mind:

"All your previous attempts at predicting the future have gone wrong, Merlin. Why should this be any different? You might be ready to give up on him, but right now Arthur is closer than ever to becoming the king of future legend."

Merlin laughed. What did Kilgharrah know?

IYîYîYîYI


	35. The Death of King Arthur

IYîYîYîYI

"_I've been loving you  
>for such a long time girl<br>expecting nothing in return  
>just for you to have a little faith in me<em>

_You see time, time is a friend  
>'cause for us, there is no end<br>and all you've gotta do  
>is have a little faith in me."<em>

- John Hiatt,_ Have A Little Faith In Me_

IYîYîYîYI

**The Death of King Arthur**

_Black hair. Pale skin. Blue eyes. Pale, icy, blue eyes, which he'd seen before, decades ago. It was the wrong blue eyes. It was the wrong sorcerer. And now, there was a sword that ran through Arthur's body from a point right below his heart. _

Yes_, he thought, _that's right. I remember this.

_A scream cut through the fray of battle, and the world was slowing down. Arthur fell and the man who was the wrong sorcerer ran away, soon lost in the chaos. Arthur's chest felt heavy, as if his armour had turned into led. Then in an instant the sounds around him grew quiet and there was an arm behind his shoulders, holding him up. There was black hair that had begun to turn white at the temples. There was pale skin that wrinkled around the eyes. There were warm blue eyes, deep, safe blue eyes with little brown spots in the blue._

"_Merlin."_

_Merlin looked down at him, at the wound, and then met his gaze._

"_Oh, Arthur."_

_He almost sounded disappointed in him. Mim turned up behind Merlin, still too young for her silver hair. She looked at Arthur and squeezed Merlin's shoulder before she ran away and left them alone again._

"_Thank you," Arthur whispered._

"_For what?"_

"_For not saying that I'll be fine."_

_Merlin began to cry. Arthur hadn't seen that in a long, long time._

"_You prat. You utter prat. You will be fine ..."_

_Arthur reached out and wiped a tear off his cheek. He had the strange thought that his hand was not supposed to look like his father's, the skin soft and loose with age, and for a moment he didn't recognize the scar he had gotten when Galahad had defeated him in what he had sworn to Merlin would be his last melee – a promise he wouldn't have any trouble keeping, now. _

"_Merlin, no. Don't. We can both see I'm dying."_

"_I ... I can't ..."_

"_... and you never did get the hang of healing spells. I know. It doesn't matter."_

_Somewhere behind them Arthur caught glimpse of flying silver hair as Mim threw herself onto a black horse. Above her, the clouds were getting darker, billowing up from thin veils into ominous mountains. She screamed, and the one word rang out over the battlefield in a way no ordinary persons voice could have: "MORDRED!"_

"_I wish Alice was here," Merlin whispered._

"_Don't worry," Arthur replied. I'm off to see her."_

"_You're not going to go anywhere without me, do you hear me?"_

"_Don't be silly. I'm just going on ahead for a while."_

_Arthur's hand slipped down and he ran his thumb over Merlin's dry lips. In a flash he remembered how those lips had tasted the first times they'd kissed, like sunshine and spring water, kisses fumbling and awkward, and he felt as if it had been yesterday._

"_You'll just have to stay behind for a bit and clean up the mess I left," Arthur whispered._

_Merlin smiled, but the tears kept rolling down his cheeks._

"_Sounds like the old days."_

_Then Arthur couldn't see anymore. From somewhere in the distance he heard Mim's cry, rolling like thunder: _

"_You're a coward, Mordred! Can you hear me? So you can run, as fast as you can, as long as you want to, but I'll hunt you to the end of the world!"_

_Far away Arthur felt Merlin's lips against his own, and in his head, Merlin's voice echoed:_

"_I love you"_

"_I love you"_

"_I love you"_

"_I love ..."_

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur flew up. His heart beat so fast he thought it was going to fly out of his chest, and his ears were ringing. Disoriented, he looked around him. He grabbed the sheets in his fists. _I'm alive. _He forced himself to take deep breaths. _It's alright, I'm alive, it was only a dream, see, it's still night. _The details of the dream slipped away like mist in sunlight, but it had left a pain right below his heart and tears on his cheeks.

He looked at Guinevere, who was pulling herself up to sit and watching him worriedly. He opened his mouth to calm her but found his mouth was too dry for him to speak.

It took a while before he realised the ringing sound he heard was actually the alarms being sounded.

IYîYîYîYI

* * *

><p><span>AN: _No, I'm really not watching series 4 (it's easier than it sounds because none of my IRL-friends watch it) so, just to remind you again, no spoilers please._

_I love that you are now discussing among yourselves in the reviews! When I began writing, I didn't expect half of this wonderful attention and affection that you show towards the story! Someone (anon) wrote that it would be cool if you all and I could get together and discuss the story, and it would indeed (though a bit difficult to achieve IRL since I'm from Sweden, and you lot are from everywhere between Canada and China. I'm thinking about making a map of my readership). We might have to start a forum!_

_Sangita: I'm sorry, but I'm confused. How exactly do you mean that I have both made you hate Arthur and turned him into a hero? Sounds like quite a feat. It must be nice in your world were things are either black or white. On the other hand, you're still reading this, so maybe you're just one of those people who find it easy to exaggerate your reactions and talk about hating the author in the privacy of the internet._


	36. Enemy at the Gates

IYîYîYîYI

"_You paint a lovely picture but reality intrudes  
>with a message for you,<br>and it's real bad news"_

- Aimee Mann,_ Real Bad News_

IYîYîYîYI

**Enemy at the Gates**

When the alarm was sounded, Arthur's first thought had been that Merlin had changed his mind – or maybe never meant what he'd said – and escaped from the dungeons after all. But just as he had been about to lay back on his pillows and try to forget about the world, he heard loud voices from the court yard. With the echo of the battle sounds from his dream still ringing in his head he remembered that an alarm could mean a great many things, most of which it would be his responsibility to take care of. And he remembered that Morgana was still out there somewhere, carrying a grudge deep enough to rattle the very foundations of Camelot.

Arthur ran out of his room with one boot still in his hand, and pulled it on hopping on one leg down the corridor. He was halfway to the council chambers when a guard ran to meet him.

"What's going on?" Arthur demanded.

The guard was wide eyed and out of breath.

"My lord, King Olaf has returned in flight and there is talk about an army marching toward Camelot!"

If any drowsiness had remained in Arthur after the awakening he'd had, it now disappeared in a beat.

"What! Where is Olaf now?" he demanded.

"King Olaf is in the council chambers with sir Hector, My lord."

"What's Hector doing there?"

"He was in charge of guard tonight sire."

It had to be Hector, didn't it?

Arthur sent the distressed guard to get Leon and continued through the corridor, where a couple of people were already sticking their heads through the doorways, trying to figure out what was happening.

IYîYîYîYI

Outside the windows of the council chambers the stars had begun to fade away, but it was still long before sunrise. A spotty boy of perhaps thirteen or fourteen was running back and forth through the dark room lighting candles and torches. Hector and Olaf stood in the middle of the room, accompanied by Sir Bernard, one of the older knights who had served for Uther, and Sir Bors, one of the younger ones. Off to one side, Adric was comforting Lady Vivian who looked paler than usual. Adric was whispering in a soothing tone and Vivian hid her face against his neck. For a while Arthur thought about Guinevere, off in their room getting dressed as if it was any morning, and as if she hadn't been gone for two nights. How angry he would have been about it only a few days ago. It seemed now there was nothing he could, or perhaps even should, say about it, save to impress upon her the importance of discretion.

"Olaf! We didn't expect you back so soon!"

The other king turned and greeted him.

"Arthur. I'm sorry we have woken you at this hour. We've been riding all night to get back here as fast as possible."

"But why? Tell me what happened."

Throwing a glance towards his daughter and her fiancé, Olaf began:

"Yesterday when we had nearly reached the end of the forest we were stopped by what I would call a minor army of knights carrying a shield of a red rowan tree. The Lady Morgana, the boy who was here with her, another woman and a little girl were all riding with these knights. The Lady Morgana told us to turn back and let you know that they would meet the army of Camelot on what she called 'the dragon's field' by – well, by tomorrow, it is now. To, as the lady said, 'impress their sincerity upon us' they sent a couple of their knights against mine. Some of my best knights were killed, almost instantly. When my men struck the lady Morgana's knights their swords went straight through them as if both man and armour had been made of smoke, but when these knights struck back they were as solid as a man can get."

Olaf told the story in a collected and straightforward manner, but he was visibly shaken. Arthur turned to Hector.

"If we are not expecting an attack until tomorrow, why did you sound the alarm?"

"They are sorceresses, sire. Their word means nothing. They could have been here before King Olaf."

"But they weren't. And now you've woken every citizen of Camelot in the middle of the night and left them wondering what's going on. Spreading panic among our own people doesn't help us."

Hector squared his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, my lord. I did what I thought best."

"Yes, of course you did. And of course we must be suspicious. It's hardly like them to tell us of their plans in advance; they probably do have some reason for it."

"Maybe they expect you to march out and leave Camelot undefended," Hector suggested.

"Possible," Arthur muttered. He looked at the round table that stood shrouded in shadow in the middle of the room. None of its usual occupants were there, only Arthur and these two old and admittedly experienced men that only refrained from talking over his young head because there was a crown on it. This was not how Arthur wanted to handle an emergency. He turned around to look for one of the guards that were usually posted inside the room whenever a meeting was held, but at this early hour and in the general confusion, none was to be found. Instead his eyes fell on the young boy who had now lit two candles that he was carrying towards the round table.

"You, young man, what's your name?"

The boy startled, jumped around and stared at him, and then tried to bow, but only barely managed to not knock his forehead in the floor. He dropped one of the candles in the process.

"Wart, Your Majesty."

"Wart? That's an unfortunate name."

"It's what everyone calls me, Your Majesty."

"Well, Wart, do you think you could tear yourself away from the lights one moment and go fetch some people for me?"

The boy's eyes went wide as saucers. He nodded.

"Good. Go through the knights' corridor. Wake Sir Elyan and Sir Percival and tell them to come. And tell the men guarding Sir Lancelot and Sir Gwaine that both of the gentlemen are needed here, arrest be damned. Then, you should better get both Geoffrey of Monmouth and Gaius, the physician, to come here as well, if the old men feel up to it. If they ask you what is going on, tell them we expect an attack tomorrow ..."

Wart dropped the second candle.

"... but if anyone else asks – and this is important! – if anyone else asks you, you will tell them that it was a false alarm and that they can safely go back to sleep. We don't want anyone to panic. Do you remember all that?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," the boy answered breathlessly.

"Off you go then. And if you see the Queen, tell her that we are here. Though I think she's already on her way."

The boy ran off. Arthur looked at the wax and broken candles on the floor and thought that maybe he should have asked for a couple of more steady-handed servants as well. Behind him, Hector spoke:

"If you don't mind my asking, sire, why would you want to release Sir Lancelot and Sir Gwaine?"

"Because, Sir Hector, when Camelot is under attack she needs her best knights, and any other conflicts will have to wait."

IYîYîYîYI

Leon came into the hall only moments after the boy had left, dressed in civilian clothes and clearly straight out of bed but with alert eyes.

"Sire. Your Majesty." He bowed slightly to Arthur and Olaf. "Sir Hector. I heard we were being attacked, but I see no evidence of it. What's really happened?"

Arthur walked up to him.

"We're expecting an attack, but probably not quite yet. King Olaf met Morgana and Morgause on the border between our kingdoms and says they are on their way here. I'll let him repeat his story once more of us are gathered." He paused for a while and then added: "You were right Leon. She was planning it just like this."

Leon nodded.

"She probably thinks Merlin has already left. Have you thought about what to do?"

IYîYîYîYI

* * *

><p><em>AN: Credit for Wart's appearance goes to Eos Rose's icon on livejournal of an angry-looking Bradley James and the caption: "Call me Wart and die!" For a girl who grew up watching Disney's _The Sword In The Stone_, it was love at first sight. So, since I do not want to face the wrath of either Arthur or Bradley, I found someone else to call Wart ... _

_I looked up __Geoffrey of Monmouth (the librarian/chronicler/court geneologist in the show) to check the spelling, and realised it's an actual historical person: one of Britain's first "historians", who wrote about the King Arthur and the ones who came before and after him, and who was the first one to use the name Merlin. Maybe you all knew this already, but I didn't and it made my day!_


	37. The Counsel of Friends and Old Men

_A/N:__ I'm still not watching series 4, I still don't want spoilers! *beginning to sound paranoid*_

_Good god, was this ever a pain to write! The longest chapter yet and it's mainly a bunch of guys around a table ... I tried so hard to keep it from becoming a theatre manuscript. Hope you don't find it too annoying or hard to follow. At least the plot is moving ..._

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_I know many who are worse off than you,  
>but you stick to your fuck-ups like they're made out of glue,<br>little dysfunk you._

_Now what you gonna do?"_

- The Ark,_ Little_ _Dysfunk You_

IYîYîYîYI

**The Counsel of Friends and Old Men**

One by one the chairs around the round table became occupied. Arthur had offered Olaf and his family rooms and time to rest, but Olaf insisted on staying, and so did Vivian even though Adric begged her not to. Hector, Bernard and Bors all politely refused to be sent off, claiming they would be of better use here. Gwen arrived and sat down next to Arthur as she always did. Elyan and Percival came to join them, and Wart returned with both Geoffrey and Gaius.

After a guard had been sent to Arthur to verify the order, Lancelot and Gwaine walked through the door. Silence fell for a moment as everyone turned to look at the two men. Gwaine walked over to his chair without even looking at Arthur, but Lancelot made a small bow towards him before he sat down. Elyan looked down at the table, but whether he was trying to not look happy or to not look angry, Arthur couldn't tell. Percival, who had the peculiar trait that by always showing an open and friendly face he made sure no one ever really knew what he was thinking, simply said "good morning" to his friends. Bors on the other hand openly glared. Arthur recalled from practices that Bors had never quite understood, and certainly not appreciated, Gwaine's particular kind of humour, but he had always seemed to get along splendidly with Lancelot. Apparently that, as so many other things, had now been ruined. All the while, Leon was watching Hector, clearly prepared for an outburst. The older man might as well have been made out of stone, but Arthur doubted that he would hold his peace for long. Sir Hector simply had a lifetime's experience of choosing his battles.

Two guards placed themselves at the door. Wart sat down in a corner. When everyone was seated only one chair remained empty – the one on Arthur's right hand side.

IYîYîYîYI

Olaf repeated his story to the gathered party. Vivian stared blankly ahead of her and gave a small shudder when her father explained in detail how three of their knights had died before the remaining ones had advised their royal family to turn and flee. The other faces around the table were also pale.

"And here we are," Olaf finished. All eyes turned toward Arthur.

"Thank you, Olaf. We have known for some time that Morgana was planning something. But as Sir Hector said earlier, this is an unexpected move from her, to just show us her cards like this." Arthur lent back and addressed himself to the whole council: "What is she really planning and how should we respond to it?"

There wasn't supposed to be a formal hierarchy around the round table, but when the two kings present had spoken, eyes still turned to Leon as the man in charge of the Knights of Camelot.

"We suspected they were hiding in the forest, practicing how to conjure up these knights. Now they're letting us now that they have managed to raise an immortal army – again. They're announcing themselves."

"Sounds like Morgana," Gwen said. "She always loved to make an entrance."

She looked down at the table and Arthur thought he saw a familiar grief in her eyes. He remembered her words about losing Morgana. Maybe she still felt it. He felt a thrill of horror at the thought – to never be able to move on or forget, to carry a grief around with you for years that no one else understood or sympathised with – what a horrible prospect.

Elyan was sceptical.

"But why would they destroy the last element of surprise by telling us where they'll be and when?" he asked.

"They are obviously lying to mislead us," Hector said. "They're planning something else or something more than they're saying."

Olaf spoke. Him it was easy to sympathise with. To be forced to stay in someone else's kingdom and watch them handle their conflicts must be frustrating; to try to express your own opinions in the matter would simply be awkward.

"I don't know what it is that has preceded this or what information you have," he said, "but as Sir Leon here mentioned I got the impression that they were simply trying to spread as much fear as possible. When we are frightened we make worse fighters, even when we think we have our fear under control."

"That is true, Your Majesty," Percival said, "but we did already know that they had immortal knights. I don't see how showing them to us is worse than letting us hear about them."

"But they couldn't have been sure how much we knew," Arthur noted. "Now they are."

Lancelot cleared his throat.

"If I may – I think there's more to it. If Morgana and Morgause want to frighten us, why didn't they conjure up this army right outside our gates, instead of on the edge of the woods?"

They all looked at each other. Why indeed? Hector glared at Lancelot as if he had created the problem by mentioning it, but Geoffrey perked up, straightened his back and said:

"They obviously want you to believe that this army, albeit immortal, is still solid, that they need to march like men of flesh and blood instead of being spirited up from smoke."

Arthur felt like some of the smoke was now disappearing from his mind. _Of course, because then ..._

"But why?" Guinevere said. "Surely a ghost army is more frightening that one of flesh and blood?"

"Yes," said Arthur, "but a real army would give the impression that they have the political support of another kingdom. Now they're just four magicians with a powerful spell."

Hector scoffed.

"If you ask me that's the most frightening prospect of them all."

"Well, no one did ask you," Gwaine muttered. It was barely audible, but enough for Hector's face to turn beet-red. He was just about to respond when Lancelot interrupted:

"But Arthur's right, don't you see? The fact that it's a spell is their weak point, not only politically. They want their knights to seem solid because that gives us a thousand points of attack, but if we know that not only their immortality but their entire existence is based on one single spell, then that means we only need to attack one thing: the spell itself."

"Of course, that's brilliant!" Adric exclaimed at the other end of the table, then bit his lip when everyone turned to look at him.

"And how do you propose to do that?" Hector asked Lancelot.

"The best way we can. By asking Merlin for help."

IYîYîYîYI

Someone was bound to say it, of course. Arthur might not have thought it would be Lancelot – Gwaine was so much angrier, and Gaius had so much less to lose – but it did make sense when he thought about it. Sir Lancelot, the reasonable tactician. Sir Lancelot, defender of the persecuted. Sir Lancelot, the King's favourite. Visitors excepted, there wasn't a person around this table who didn't know that among all the Knights of the Round Table Lancelot had always been the one who could ask for anything, anything at all, and Arthur would give it to him. Of course, he very rarely had asked for anything. But now he was, and even though it was known that he had begun to fall out of grace, it still seemed as if everyone in the room was holding their breath. At the edge of his vision Arthur saw the chair next to him, and he had to struggle to not look down on the seat. The gaping emptiness was pulling his eyes towards it like the see-through spot in the middle of the flame of a candle.

Arthur had seen what everyone else had seen. He realised that, in theory, Merlin might well have been their best weapon against Morgause and Morgana. But even if by some wonder he could be persuaded to help, even if by some wonder – or simply out of desperation – Arthur could make himself trust him, the solution to one problem would be the birth of so many others. And as if he had read Arthur's mind, Sir Hector raised his voice.

"How dare you even suggest it? If we wanted sorcerers to roam free in the court, we should just open the gates for Lady Morgana and let her march in."

Beside him Sir Bernard nodded. Bernard was almost as old as Hector, but lower in rank. He had an older brother somewhere who was a Lord, and he himself had never left the Knights of Camelot. Arthur liked him better than he did Hector. Sir Bernard was one of the knights who had taught him how to fight.

Arthur sighed. "It won't happen, Lancelot."

"Damned right it won't," Gwaine said. He had been quiet and sullen up until now, but the glint in his eye said he was ready to make up for it. "Why would any sorcerer want to help this sorry lot?"

"Why would a sorcerer want to help anyone, indeed?" Hector countered.

"Being a sorcerer does not make you a monster!" Gaius said.

Hector opened his mouth to speak, but was once again interrupted, this time by his own ally.

"Maybe it does not," Bernard said. "But to have so much power, given to you by no one and which no one can take away – that could make any man a monster."

A chill went down Arthur's spine. That wasn't Merlin, was it? He had lied to him, he had hidden things, and he had caused people to die – but to call him a monster? Merlin?

"I don't understand what the fuss is about," Gwaine said. "How can you make laws forbidding people to use the power they have? Where I grew up, using magic was legal. Of course, so was being a childish bastard and backstabbing the people who care about you, but that was generally frowned upon."

The chair screeched against the floor as Sir Bors flew up with his hand on his sword. Arthur saw the wrath in his eyes, he saw the challenge in Gwaine's and he heard the sound of the sword being pulled free. In a split second he realised that it was time to stop mulling things over and take charge. Quickly.

"_Sit down!_ Sir Bors, you will pardon Sir Gwaine, his mouth works faster than his head. Gwaine, if you say one more thing that is not helpful, I will have to ask you to leave the room."

Gwaine leaned back in his chair.

"What, aren't you going to let him kill me? Or have me taken down to the dungeons?"

"_Not yet_," Arthur growled. "If you want to leave Camelot, feel free, but I think even you would prefer not to be met by Morgana's army on the way out, wouldn't you? Sir Bors, kindly leave your sword by the wall and never bring it to this table again."

Sir Bors looked surprised and got out of his chair a bit awkwardly. Arthur noticed that Olaf was looking discreetly away and he felt embarrassed. What did they all look like to him? It must be like being invited to dine with a family and then not being allowed to leave the table when they began to fight. Arthur knew it looked strange for him to scold Bors as much as Gwaine, but he'd always been annoyed by Bors prickly manner, and even though Gwaine was behaving just as childishly as he was accusing Arthur of being right now it was still Gwaine, and he deserved a second chance. Of course, what both Gwaine and Lancelot was trying to tell him was that there was someone else who also deserved a second chances._ Hasn't he had five years of chances_?

"Well, let's talk about the situation then," Gwaine said as if he had never been interrupted. "Lancelot thinks Merlin's the only one who can help. I don't know much about magic so I'll take his word for it. But even if it is so, what makes any of you think he _would_ help, now?"

"Merlin would never let Morgana take over Camelot again," Gaius said. "Not if he could stop it."

"Why not?" Gwaine insisted. "What has _Camelot_ done for him? Thrown him in the dungeons and wrecked his back. I certainly wouldn't be feeling very helpful after that."

Lancelot looked about ready to hide his face in his hands.

"Gwaine, you're not helping anyone," he said. "Not Merlin, not us and certainly not yourself."

"No? Maybe I don't think Merlin would be best helped by being made to stay here." Gwaine glared at Arthur. "You promised to let him leave. Are you taking that back to use him as some kind of weapon? Do you think I'll let you?"

Arthur was quickly developing a deeper understanding for Sir Bors.

"He's a sorcerer, Gwaine," he snapped. "I doubt he needs you to protect him."

Gwaine looked taken aback. Then, for a second, he looked like he was about to laugh. Lancelot on the other hand didn't seem to see any joke:

"But maybe weneed _him_ to protect _us_."

Gaius nodded. Hector shook his head.

"Do I need to remind you that the man we are talking about has been sentenced to exile for the use of sorcery, lying to the crown and killing one of the knights of Camelot?"

"No, Sir Hector, I don't you think you do," Arthur replied. "Gaius, you said Merlin would stop Morgana if he could, and from what we all saw perhaps he can, but what about Morgause? Isn't she a much more powerful sorceress? And what about both of them together, with the help of the druid boy and that little girl too? Even if we did try to defeat magic with magic, wouldn't we need more than one sorcerer on our side?"

He told himself he was asking these questions because it was his duty to consider every alternative that could help Camelot from falling into the hands of the enemy. _And it is my duty, my first and foremost duty that I should never, ever forget._

Gaius seemed to hesitate for a while before he answered. Arthur wondered how much Gaius knew about Merlin's power beyond the fact that they existed.

"Not necessarily," Gaius said. "Even the most powerful warlock would have difficulties defending himself on four fronts at once of course, but, as I'm told Morgana has already revealed, Merlin is far more powerful than any ordinary conjurer."

This time it was Hector who stood up.

"I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but I was led to believe that this man had been pardoned from the crime of harbouring a sorcerer, and invited to help today, only because he had harboured the boy out of an old man's misdirected kindness and most definitely _not_ been aware of the extent of the boy's power."

"I'm sorry if you laboured under that misconception," Arthur remarked, "but I don't believe anyone ever told you any such thing."

"On the contrary, My Lord, you yourself told me he was to be pardoned because he was only an old, kind man."

"I'm not so old yet that I cannot spot powerful magic under my own roof," Gaius said.

Arthur felt the situation slipping away from him again.

"Sir Hector, your manner is distracting and unhelpful, I _order_ you to either sit yourself down or _leave_."

Hector took his seat again, but Arthur could tell that the old man's anger had increased in time with the daylight that was now sufficient to see by. Who knew where they would all be by the time the sun had risen?

IYîYîYîYI

"Why would we even need a sorcerer to save us?" Sir Bors asked. "Are we not men enough to save ourselves?"

Somewhere deep inside, Lancelot felt like he could scream. On the outside however, he remained calm. _Why must it be so hard to help your friends? To help _all_ your friends?_

"Because we did the last time they attacked Camelot," he said. "Because Merlin is the only one who has ever defeated Morgause and Morgana."

"Pardon?" Arthur said. His eyebrow was raised to make him look sceptical, but Lancelot could tell he had caught his interest. In fact, when he looked around the table, he seemed to have caught everyone's interest – from the more clinically curious King Olaf and his family and the confusion of Elyan and Percival, to Arthur and Bernard who were both hard to read, and Bors and Hector whose contempt was clearly written in their features.

"But," Percival began carefully, "last time, those soldiers just disappeared. For no apparent reason at all. The spell was just broken somehow."

"Yes, because Merlin broke into the room where the Cup of Life was and emptied it."

"Well, if that was the case, surely anyone could have done it," Hector said.

"And gotten past half of an immortal army alive?" Lancelot retorted.

"But how did he do that?"

It was Gwen who asked, and for a second Lancelot made the mistake of looking at her. She wore a pale blue dress and her hair had been hastily pulled together, but she didn't look half as tired as he felt sure he must. He had laid awake waiting for her, half praying that she would come, half praying that she wouldn't. It seemed she had come to her senses again. He wondered what Arthur had said about the two nights she had been away.

He took a breath and snapped back to reality.

"He had a sword that could kill them. I don't know where he'd gotten it from."

Lancelot noticed Gaius' eyebrows shoot up and wondered if he'd said something that was still a secret.

"A sword that can kill those who are already dead?" Olaf asked.

"I suppose," Lancelot said, a bit hesitant now.

"That sword is probably gone by now," Gaius hurried to say. But Elyan's eyes had already lit up.

"So all we would have to do is get our hands on that sword!"

"I heard stories of such weapons when I was a child," Olaf continued. "They were said to have been forged in a dragon's breath."

IYîYîYîYI

At the mention of a dragon, Arthur's heart skipped a beat. He felt like an idiot. Why on earth had he mentioned his suspicions regarding the dragon in front of the prison guards? What had it changed to drag that up now_? But I remember the dead bodies on the courtyard, burned to charcoal. I remember the smell, surprisingly, sickeningly sweet in my nostrils. I remember the screams. I remember the feeling of the hairs on my cheek getting singed away when I ducked down behind the battlements to avoid the dragon's fire. _

Which was exactly whyno one else needed to know. Merlin had been accused of enough crimes, and now he was going to leave. That was the end of the tale. Still, Arthur should probably give the prison guards houses and some land somewhere in the outer villages and pay them never to come back, just in case. And as another precaution, he was about to change the subject when Lancelot beat him to it.

"Never mind about the sword," the knight said. "That was hardly the only, or the first time that Merlin has saved each one of us around this table. Give him just one chance to show you in person what it is he's been doing without thanks for years!"

And then Lancelot told them the story of when he had first arrived in Camelot. It was a different story than the one Arthur remembered. It had Merlin forging seals of nobility to give a peasant a chance to achieve his dream – annoying, but hardly surprising – it had an unbeatable griffin and a magic spell that covered weapons with blue fire and allowed them to kill creatures of magic. But even if some of the things Lancelot said were new to him, they made Arthur remember the things Lancelot wasn't telling them. Things like fighting Lancelot in the street just for the fun of it; like realising for perhaps the first time how impressed he could be with another man even if he was his own age and lower in rank; like the pain of letting that go. Things like beginning to question the first rule of Camelot and beginning to question his father. And he remembered, suddenly and vividly, when Gaius had told him and his father that the griffin could only be defeated by magic. He remembered how his father had disregarded the information as useless – and how he hadn't. How he had wanted to ask if there wasn't something they could try. _If we couldn't use magic as a weapon, on our side_. Had he forgotten all about that until this day? Why did the thought feel so strange now, almost alien in his mind, when he clearly remembered that he had once thought that way? _Once. Before Morgana._

"That's why I left," Lancelot concluded. "I couldn't reveal Merlin's secret, not when he hadn't meant me to know of it in the first place, and certainly not when he had just saved mine and everybody else's lives. But neither could I take the credit for what was actually his deed."

Gwaine stared at him and then burst out laughing. Lancelot looked confused.

"Only you, Lancelot," Gwaine said, shaking his head. "Only you."

"But what about that shadow-creature we met in the woods," Arthur heard himself saying, "it disappeared after you attacked it. Maybe they _can _get hurt?"

He heard how silly it sounded the moment he had said it, and hoped that no one but Lancelot, who was giving him an almost pitiful look, realised just how stupid a question that was.

"That was Merlin too, wasn't it?"

Lancelot simply nodded.

How many times had it been Merlin?

IYîYîYîYI

"What other options do we have?"

Arthur threw out the question. It needed to get answered in front of everyone, even if the answer turned out to be "none". Especially if the answer turned out to be "none".

The tension around the table faded down a bit.

"To ride out against them with an army, like they want us to," Leon said. "And ride right into trap, more likely than not."

"To barricade ourselves in the citadel," Bors countered. Hector kept silent, probably by careful calculation even if he had proven that he wasn't always able to control himself.

"Perhaps to send out messengers to the closest villages, to recruit more fighters and warn the civilians," Adric added.

Silence settled again.

"So our best chance is to use magic against magic?"

"You know my view of the matter, sire," Leon said.

"I would hope that your view of the matter is the law's view," Hector said. "To use our enemies to fight our enemies is a dangerous method, bound to miscarry."

Gwaine shook his head in disbelief.

"You've just heard ... ! So just because someone's a sorcerer, they're an enemy, no matter how much good they have done?"

"Yes," Hector replied, not a shred of doubt in his voice.

"No!" said Gaius.

"According to the laws of Camelot, _every _sorcerer is an enemy of the crown," Hector pressed.

"The laws of ..." Gaius stopped and turned to Arthur. "My Lord, if I could talk with you for just a moment."

Arthur sighed. He felt as if he had been up all night. How long had it really been? Less than an hour?

"Gaius, if this is more of the same ..."

"No. This concerns something that has been kept from you far longer."

IYîYîYîYI

When Arthur rose from the table and followed Gaius, and Geoffrey of Monmouth whom Gaius had asked to be his witness, into the far corner of the room, he was already wondering if this was a good idea. If nothing else, it felt like he was leaving a pack of wolfs behind him to tear each other apart.

"What is it, Gaius?"

Gaius seemed to hesitate.

"I want to tell you something that there's no longer any reason why you shouldn't know. Something I begged your father to tell you years ago."

"You have my attention."

"When your father became king of Camelot, for a long time magic was still legal. Frowned upon, perhaps, but not forbidden. It wasn't until your mother's death that the great purge started. Geoffrey can confirm this."

Geoffrey nodded.

"I'm sure he can," Arthur said. "He's the one who taught me the history of Camelot when I was a little boy. I already know this, Gaius. What's your point?"

"Didn't it ever seem a bit strange to you? That Uther would change his mind so suddenly?"

"Losing someone can make a man harder," Arthur said. The image of his mother had appeared in his head, and when he tried to push it aside he only saw Morgana and Merlin instead.

"Indeed," Gaius said. "And even more so when he blames himself."

Arthur crossed his arms.

"Is this about that tale Morgause tried to make me believe?"

The sun had begun to shine in through the window and it hit the older man's face, painting it red.

"It's not a tale."

Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Gaius ..."

"Your father enlisted powerful magic to give him an heir. I was there when he spoke to Nimueh, I was there when she cast the spell."

"There was a famous sorceress named Nimueh," Geoffrey supplied. His voice sounded like dry paged turning. "She was rumoured to be eternally young, and a priestess of the old religion. Something like that would certainly have been within her power. And it is true that King Uther desired nothing more than an heir."

Arthur looked at Gaius.

"You're saying that he did kill my mother?"

Gaius looked straight into his eyes, leaning his head forward a bit like he always did when he wanted to emphasise the seriousness of something.

"Your father knew enough about the old religion to know that if you create a life, one must be taken. But I don't think he ever for a second believed it would be your mother. He loved her very much. His reaction when it was proves that as well as anything."

_Loved her?_ Arthur remembered that day, the day when Morgause had conjured his mother. They day he had finally heard her speak to him. The confrontation with his father that had followed he recalled like one recalls a nightmare – it was something he hadn't thought of in a long while, but now that he did, his own words rang in his ears:

"_You have hunted her kind like animals! How many hundred have you condemned to death to ease your guilt?"_ Arthur's blood froze in his veins. Again, he seemed to have forgotten so much of these thoughts he had once had. The doubts about the law and the embarrassment of his father's obsession with magic had plagued him long before that day; and though they had been eased by the thought that it was all a part of Morgause's plan they had not gone away immediately. It was only since Morgana had left that he had completely forgotten that he had once thought like that.

"Merlin told me she was lying. He ... he told me not to trust a sorcerer."

Why had he believed in that? It sounded preposterous now. Yes, of course Morgause's intentions had probably been evil, but there was no reason she couldn't have used the truth to get there.

"He didn't know what else to do," Gaius said, softly. It was the first time in days he had addressed Arthur with anything but stern disappointment.

"I deserved to know the truth."

How could the sun be shining so brightly outside? How could it already be so warm and how could the sky be the colour of strawberries and peaches?

"Yes," Gaius said, "you did. But right then, you would have killed your father. You might have become king, and you might have allowed magic back into Camelot, and Merlin would finally have been able to tell you about his magic. But you would never have forgiven yourself. You know that. And Merlin knew that, too."

"If you're trying to make me feel guilty ..." Arthur began.

"I'm trying to tell you that these laws that you all keep mentioning were created for the wrong reasons. Haven't you disobeyed the laws of Camelot several times just for Merlin alone? What will it take for you to see, Arthur Pendragon, that he has done the same for you?"

Arthur swallowed._"You speak of honour and nobility – you are nothing but a hypocrite and a liar!" _Those had been words about his father – had they become words about him?

IYîYîYîYI

* * *

><p><span>AN:_ I LOVE You! ALL of you! I bow down before you and praise you! I also bring you tiny, humble gifts of forgiveness for my lack of updates:_

_Bonus Material!_

This is what my drafts look like (occasionally). If I followed them more literally, this might turn into comedy:

_A: But that one we met in the woods, it disappeared after you attacked it. Maybe they _can _get hurt?  
>L: *look*<br>A: *facepalm*_

_Lance tells the griffin story. "That's why I left, I couldn't reveal Merlin's secret, not when he hadn't meant me to know of it in the first place, and certainly not when he had just saved mine and everybody else's lives. But neither could I take the credit for what was actually his deed."_

_Gwaine: 0_o? _

_XD !_

_Lance: ?_


	38. That Which Could Have Been

IYîYîYîYI

"_Oh, but now old friends are acting strange  
>they shake their heads and they tell me that I've changed<br>Well, something's lost, but something's gained  
>in living, every day<em>

_I've looked at life from both sides now  
>from win and lose, and still somehow<br>it's life's illusions I recall  
>I really don't know life at all"<em>

- Joni Mitchell, _Both Sides Now_

IYîYîYîYI

**That Which Could Have Been and That Which Now Is**

"I know that you have been raised to believe that magic is evil. But magic is only a tool, used by good people as well as bad ones. It can be much more than merely a weapon. It can heal wounds, mend what's broken, put out fires, bring forth rain. Many of the kingdoms in Albion banned magic, after Uther did, only to save their trade agreements with Camelot. Magic used to be a part of this land. That chair next to yours has been empty much longer than you think."

Arthur listened to Gaius speak, but he looked at the round table. Guinevere looked back at him. She seemed both curious and worried. There were now two chairs gaping empty beside her.

What would it have been like if magic had never been forbidden? If Morgana had been able to tell them during the evening meal that she had magic, and Arthur and his father would have supported her, not judged her, and she wouldn't have turned to Morgause? If they had been a family, what would that family have looked like? Did Arthur have it in him to imagine it? Did he hav it in him to admit that he missed Morgana, more than he could say? That if he believed there was a way they could be friends again, he would jump at the chance?

What would it have been like, if Merlin had introduced himself as a sorcerer the first time they had met? If that word had been free from all meanings except "one who can use magic"? It would have been an entirely different world. A world where he and Merlin could have been equals. Where Merlin's reward for saving his life (_with magic, he used magic, didn't he?_) would have been a position not as manservant but as some sort of court sorcerer or protector. It would have been a world where Merlin would have been his advisor and helped him rule, like a slender shadow behind the throne, and no one would have questioned it. They could have grown old like that.

_Growing old_. Suddenly the dream he had thought he had forgotten sprung back to life again. He remembered flashes of it. Merlin. The silver-haired woman whom he had seemed to know. The battle field.

Things had gone wrong.

Gaius coughed behind him.

"I am sorry to add to the list of lies that have been told to you. I realise that it is painful to you."

Arthur shook his head.

"Thank you Gaius, but it's hardly the same thing. You're not Merlin. And you might have kept it secret, but it was my father's lie, not yours."

Gaius raised an eyebrow, and Arthur thought he was going to question his strange words, but he didn't:

"I'm aware that you might have to choose between the threat outside the walls and the threat inside them right now. I'm afraid I can't help you much with that. But if you want me to explain to them that the laws they defend were created for the wrong reasons, I will."

The answer came to Arthur as he spoke it. And it was an obvious answer, really.

"There _was_ a choice. It's not much of one now. Leon is right; there is no worse scenario than Morgana taking over Camelot again. If I make unpopular decisions to stop her and Hector manages to take over the throne afterwards, that's my own loss. If I pay too much attention to him and his allies, and _Morgana_ takes over the throne, then all of Camelot will suffer."

Even through Gaius schooled expression, Arthur could see the old man's hope rising.

"Don't underestimate yourself, Arthur. I might not like how you have treated Merlin these last few days, but if Sir Hector got the throne, it would certainly be a loss for all of Camelot, not just for you."

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur walked slowly back to the table. He knew what he wanted to do – he wanted to talk to Merlin. He felt it in his bones, now, so strongly that he would have liked to run past all these people and not stop until he and Merlin were alone somewhere where they could talk freely, with no more lies on either side, no more politics, only questions asked and answered. Questions and answers long overdue. But first he had to say something to these people.

He saw Guinevere with her expectant eyes, Gwaine with his arms crossed over his chest, Bors deep in conversation with Bernard, Hector looking up at Arthur and waiting for his chance. Now Arthur was about to give it to him. Lancelot just waited with a calm face. As if he had always known what Arthur would decide. Maybe he had. Maybe this was where Arthur had been heading all along, unbeknownst to himself.

He did walk past the table, but only to speak to Wart and one of the guards.

IYîYîYîYI

There was an interruption of the strange lull that Merlin had fallen into, when two guards followed Emma down the stairs. Without getting up from the floor, Merlin watched as they whispered something to the prison guards and then walked over and unlocked the door to his cell. He sat up. A chill ran down his spine.

_This is it. They're coming to escort me to the gates._

Emma ran in with quick little steps. Her mouth shivered and twitched as if it wasn't sure whether it was on its way toward a smile or a frown.

"Can you walk, Merlin?"

"No," he lied.

She raised an eyebrow. She had clearly spent too much time around Gaius.

"No? Not even for a little bit? We're only going up to your room."

"Why? Is he letting me pack my things? Are they going to watch me while I do?" he said, nodding towards the guards.

"I don't think so. Something's happened. Arthur wanted to tell you himself. I think you can walk if I support you, right?"

_Arthur. Arthur wants to talk to me? _Merlin's head was spinning with questions. He fought to stand on legs that were shaking badly in protest of suddenly being forced to work after having spent so much time just sitting or lying down.

"I can walk on my own," he said. "What do you mean, 'something's happened'?"

Emma opened her mouth but one of the guards cut in.

"I'm afraid there's no time for questions, sir. We've been told to take you to your room as quickly as possible."

Merlin stared at the guard. Had he just been called "sir"? _"Sir"?_

Emma didn't let him walk on his own. She insisted on throwing his arm over her shoulders, and maybe it was for the best. The stairs up to ground level alone nearly exhausted him. He kept asking Emma what was going on, but she wouldn't tell him. She claimed she didn't really know anyway, and it was probably the truth.

IYîYîYîYI

When Arthur returned to the table all eyes were on him. Gaius and Geoffrey had sat back down, but Arthur remained standing with his hands placed on the back of his chair.

"Gentlemen. Ladies." He nodded to Guinevere and Vivan. "This kingdom is under attack, and we sit around this table bickering about magic. This kingdom is under attack _because_ we sit around this table bickering about magic. Because that is all this court has done for all my life. It has split the court, and it has split my family, in more ways than one. There was a time when the Lady Morgana and I – my _sister _and I – both shared the opinion that my father had pushed his aversion against magic too far. We all know where Lady Morgana decided to go from there, and I have responded to her action by going in the opposite direction. I realise now that this was a mistake."

Arthur caught Leon's puzzled expression.

"I'm not defending her. Somewhere along the road she clearly lost her head. I just hadn't realised that I had begun to lose mine. No, let me finish," he said when several mouths opened to protest.

"My father made horrible mistakes due to his blind hatred of magic," – Arthur looked at Gaius and thought of the Withcfinder, and he knew with sudden clarity that for once he was about to do something _right _– "and I in my turn have made quite a few. Nothing that has been done can be undone, but I will attempt to mend what can still be mended. As for my father, his first and biggest mistake was to ban magic. That ban will be removed."

Even Gaius seemed surprised at this turn of events. Arthur looked straight at Sir Hector, expecting him to stand up and protest, but the man's face was a complete blank. Sir Bernard frowned deeply, and Sir Bors mouth turned in to a thin white line, but Hector – Hector was pleased, wasn't he? Bors moved on his chair, but Hector grabbed him.

"Stays seated, Sir Bors. We've had quite enough of that."

Gwaine stared at them in confusion. He didn't understand this kind of intrigue. That was what Arthur had always liked about him.

"My Lord, I would like to simply ask two questions, if a may?" Sir Hector continued.

Arthur braced himself.

"You may."

"Thank you. I believe we have already discussed most aspects of this, but I only want to make absolutely sure I haven't misunderstood you." Hector kept his voice light and conversational. "First you made a mockery of justice, letting this boy, Marvin, live, and now, with no earthly idea of the chaos of a land where magic is allowed to roam free, you propose to change the law that has been protecting Camelot since before you could walk. My first question is this: the enemies at our gates, your _sister_, as you call her, and her friends, are wielding magic of the darkest kind. Now that you propose to make this legal, will you perhaps invite them in?"

That one was simple.

"The Lady Morgana might be my sister, but she is not family anymore. By past evidence and by her own declaration, she is the enemy of Camelot, and even if magic was erased from the list of her crimes, the list would still be long. So no, she will not be _invited in_ at all, or ever again."

"That is a relief, I'm sure. But it does make my second question even more pressing. This boy Marvin ..."

"_Merlin_," Gwaine growled.

"This boy Merlin who seems so close to both yourself and a number of your knights, and whom I suppose you now intend to free and consult as others have suggested – will he be freed and acquitted of his crimes because you have changed the law, or are you changing the law to have him acquitted?"

The answer to that was simple as well, but that didn't matter. Hector had won this battle simply by asking the question. Even so, Arthur replied what he had to reply, using as much honesty as he could if he wanted to avoid both exposing himself and entangling himself in lies:

"Neither. I will change the law because the law is groundless, and put in place because of one man's pain and grief. And while it is true that Merlin is my friend, and that it would pain me to see him leave, do not for a second believe that it does not also pain me to go and ask advice of a man who has been lying to me for _years_. But I am man enough to put my pride aside for a while if it means I can avoid bloodshed among my people."

Hector leaned back in his chair.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. That was all we needed to hear."

IYîYîYîYI

The guards stopped outside Merlin's room and gave him one last worried look before they let him and Emma go inside. Emma helped him over to the bed, where sat down, and then ran off with a promise of finding him something to eat.

Merlin looked around the room that he hadn't seen for days. It was just as he'd left it, each one of his precious few belongings still in place, but it was like looking at your room through a mirror: it looked exactly the same, and yet it was different. All the feelings and emotions that are buried in the walls, floating in the air and hiding in the smell of the room where one lives – all that was gone somehow.

Merlin himself felt different too. Up here, it became obvious that something was missing. Not just the practical things like his freedom or the full use of his back, not just the people he loved; but inside of him, something was missing from who he was. The secret. He had lived with it so long. He had spent so much of his time and energy on keeping it, on keeping up appearances, and now it was gone. No more hiding, no more lying, no more fake smiles. No more would he have to feel his heart beating like a rabbits when he thought he was close to being discovered. No more would he feel the taste of bitterness when someone else took credit for his work. Whether he was thrown out of Camelot or not, there wouldn't be any point pretending anymore. He was out in the open now – and he felt naked and cold.

IYîYîYîYI

"What should we do now, sire?" Leon asked.

"You should eat. Breakfast is long overdue. I have sent the boy to the kitchen with word that breakfast should be served for all of you in the great hall. Our honoured guests should be allowed to rest. Olaf, if you wish to void the new treaties because you no longer agree with our laws, no one will blame you."

Olaf shook his head. Arthur was once again hit by embarrassment that all this had taken place in front of another king. He didn't know what the political consequences of that might turn out to be, and right now that was a factor that he'd rather leave to a later time.

"The treaties stand as long as my knights are avenged."

"I hope they will be. The rest of us should meet here again this afternoon. If anything happens or if any more news of our attackers arrives, you will be called for. For now, the council is dismissed."

The relative silence was broken by the sound of chairs being pulled out as everyone got up.

"What are _you_ going to do?" Guinevere asked.

"I'm going to talk to Merlin."

"I'll come with you," Gwaine said.

Arthur clenched his teeth.

"No, you won't. I'm going alone."

Sir Bernard reacted.

"My Lord, you can't go and see the sorcerer alone."

"Why not?" Arthur asked, putting his chair back. "He's my manservant, I've spent plenty of time alone with him over the years, if he wanted to kill me surely he would have done it long ago."

He meant it to be something of a joke, but it seemed to fall flat to Sir Bernard, who appeared twice as concerned now. In the corner of his eye Arthur saw Hector nod. Yes, Arthur knew how this was going to work. Every time Arthur mentioned Merlin, pieces were falling into place for Sir Hector. Arthur caught his eye and nodded back. Going up to see Merlin alone would bring Arthur one step further into the trap the older man was setting up for him, he knew. But he hoped it might also be the beginning of some of his own pieces falling into place. It was all up to Merlin now.

IYîYîYîYI

* * *

><p><em>AN: Sorry for the long break. Real life got in the way again. I'll try to keep that at a minimum, shall I?_

_Still no spoilers for series 4 please. If I start watching it, I'll say so. Of course it is always nice to keep reviews spoiler-free for those who live elsewhere and wait to see it on telly._


	39. Of Kings, Prats and Men

_A/N: You are so going to kill me for stalling … but what can I say, Gwaine wanted to have his say and I can never say no to him. I'm weak like that._

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_I walked into his office,  
>I felt so self-conscious on the couch<br>He was sitting down across from me,  
>he was writing down his hypothesis, I don't know<br>_[...]_  
><em>You say his interjecting was him just calling me on my shit?"

- Alanis Morissette_, The Couch_

IYîYîYîYI

**Of Kings, Prats and Men**

On his way out of the council chamber, Arthur caught sight of someone else he needed to talk with undisturbed. He walked up and grabbed the arm of the man in question.

"A word with you, Sir Gwaine."

Gwaine allowed himself to be pulled away and out of the room, which only proved he wanted to have it out with Arthur as much as Arthur wanted to have it out with Gwaine.

When Arthur was sure they were out of earshot, he spun around.

"What the hell do you think you were doing in there?"

He tried not to yell, so his voice came out in a strange, half-strangled tone. Gwaine looked unimpressed.

"I was disagreeing with you."

"_Everyone_ was disagreeing with me, but _no one_ was acting like you! Not even that idiot Bors. I thought you told me your father was a knight. Did he teach you no manners what so ever?"

Arthur felt his blood boil. He knew he was two steps away from letting Gwaine receive every drop of anger that had been adding up inside him, but he also knew it was the safest outlet. Taking out his anger on Merlin, Guinevere or Lancelot had always been a risky business because with them, the anger could turn into words and actions that he later had to pay dearly for – the present situation being the worst example yet. But whenever he and Gwaine disagreed, it turned into fisticuffs long before it came to that.

"I don't care about _knights' manners_," Gwaine spat. "Those people in there who scheme and plot and jump between muttering curses over your name and licking your arse, I'm not like that, and you know it. I'm not going to bow my head and agree with everything you say just because you're the King."

"No one is asking you to agree, but you have to show the proper _respect._ Not just to me, but to Guinevere, and to Olaf ..."

"I'm not Lancelot!" Gwaine yelled.

Arthur paused.

"What has Lancelot got to do with it?"

Gwaine let out a mirthless laugh.

"What Lancelot has to do with it? He's the perfect knight, that's what. The shining paragon that we are all measured against. Measured and found wanting."

_How true. _

"But this is why it is all so easy for him. Because he believes in all that, in bowing and scraping and some people being worth more than others because they wear a metal ring on their thick skulls. It's easier for him, and the others like him, when they begin to doubt you, because they can still hang on to those beliefs, because that's the reason they follow you."

"While you're just here for the fun of it, I know. Quite a hangover you woke up to."

Gwaine punched him, in the exact same spot where he had hit him earlier and it felt as if Arthur's jaw was going to fall off and his head crack open. It really shouldn't be a nice feeling, but somehow it was. It felt cleansing. Arthur braced himself for a second punch, for starting a fight, but this time Gwaine broke the pattern by stepping back and beginning to talk again.

"You really are a prat, do you know that? I'm here because I followed you here, followed you _in spite_ of you being a noble. I let you and Merlin talk me into being something I swore never to be, and I got down on my bloody _knees_ and pledged allegiance to _you. _Not to your crown or the fancy chair you sit on, not to your father or to your name, but to_ you_. Because I thought you were something different, something better. A good man."

Arthur was speechless. He didn't know what he had expected, but not to be scolded by one of his knights. Any other time, he would have struck back. He would have told Gwaine to watch his tongue, to remember the rules, remember who he was talking to.

But it was clear that Gwaine knew exactly who he was talking to. Gwaine didn't care about titles. When he talked to Arthur, it was not to the king, but to the man. Arthur had always known that, had appreciated it even, and he had always assumed that Gwaine did it to take him down a peg or two, to keep Arthur's head from getting to big. He hadn't realised that it was because he valued the man higher than the king.

"I'm sorry, Gwaine. I try to be. A good man. I_ will_ be. With the help of people who call me on it when I fail to be. When I turn into a prat, or a brute."

It felt a little like submitting, and Arthur didn't like it one bit. It wasn't in his nature, but if he had to grin and bear it to keep at least this one friendship, he certainly would. Gwaine said nothing, only studied him intensely. Arthur wondered what he saw. Certainly not a good man. But maybe the possibility of one.

"But the next time you think I've let you down, you will take it up with me alone before you insult me in front of the entire council, or I will beat you so bad you won't be able to sit for a week, is that understood?"

Gwaine scoffed, and slowly his frown turned into a grin.

"I'd like to see you try."

"I'd try and I'd do it, you cheeky bastard."

To his surprise, Arthur felt that he was grinning as well. It hurt a bit.

"You can criticise me all you want, Gwaine, that's not what I mind. I promise. But in front of these people there are rules that_ I _have to follow, and you have to follow them to."

"Fine, I will promise to behave myself in front of the stuck-up old men," Gwaine said and slapped his hands on to Arthur's shoulders, suddenly looking very serious again. "... if you promise to go up and beg forgiveness of your so-called friend. And I mean beg."

_So-called?_

Gwaine let go and began to leave. Then he turned around, and while he was walking backwards he added:

"And if you ever hurt him again, I'll know. And you know which one of us would _really_ win that fight."

IYîYîYîYI

* * *

><p><em>AN: One of the reasons for my long break between chapter 37 and 38 was that another plot bunny came along and buried its teeth in my leg. And it would. Not. Let. Go. I simply had to go and write the draft for it. This chapter is kind of a clue and a teaser for that fic, although the two stories definitely won't be connected. That story will come your way once this one is finished._


	40. Picking Up the Broken Pieces

_A/N:__ Here it is. Boy, what an exhausting chapter to write! Parts of it I worked out over a year ago, other parts less than 24 hours ago. And I had to kill so many darlings that I might have to make a cemetery._

_This is one of the most important chapters in the story. Maybe_ the _most important. And I expect it will be the great divider of my readership as well. __**Reviews are the air I breathe.**_

_Next chapter can hopefully be expected at some point during the weekend._

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_Serve God, love me, and mend  
>This is not the end<br>Live unbruised, we are friends  
>and I'm sorry<br>I'm sorry"_

- Mumford & Sons,_ Sigh No More_

IYîYîYîYI

**Picking Up The Broken Pieces**

The last time Arthur had stood in this doorway, not so long ago at all, he had been here to apologize for his own brutish behaviour, and Merlin had sat on the bed in front of him polishing his boots. He had received forgiveness that time, and he had thought things could only get better from there. Now here he was again, but the drunken stupidity he'd come to apologize for the last time seemed like a joke in comparison to the present situation, and Merlin, who sat there on the bed again, was looking a whole lot less forgiving.

The last time Arthur had stood in this doorway, he had reflected on how beautiful Merlin was. Merlin was still beautiful, would always be beautiful, but he was thinner now, drawn, and he had dark circles under his eyes. His shirt was off, and even though Arthur couldn't see his back he saw one wound stretching up over Merlin's right shoulder and it allowed him to imagine the rest in more vivid detail than he really needed. It had clearly healed a bit, but not nearly enough. There were scabs, and bruising, and the entire wound stood out like a purple ridge on the poor pale body. And all this was Arthur's doing.

The last time Arthur had stood in this doorway, Merlin had refused to look at him. Now Emma sat beside him and they were both staring at him, Emma with some timidity but Merlin looked straight into his eyes. Arthur couldn't look away. Merlin's eyes, that had always reminded him of warm blue skies, seemed like windows to the sea now – a sea at storm, dark, perilous and freezing cold, and Arthur had no idea what to say to keep from drowning.

IYîYîYîYI

It was a strange thing to see Arthur standing in the doorway. Now that no bars were between them, a part of Merlin wanted to spring up and embrace him. Part of him clearly was mad. Another part of him wanted to send every piece of furniture in the room flying at Arthur. That seemed slightly more appropriate, but he decided to refrain.

Emma had returned, Merlin had eaten the food she'd brought and she had just opened up a jar of the salve she'd used when she first dressed his wounds. They had both stopped when Arthur had opened the door. The King stood motionless in the doorway.

"Thank you Emma, you can come back later," Merlin said.

"But I should ..."

"You should go. Now, please."

She left the jar and quickly got up and left. Arthur stepped aside to let her pass without even looking at her. It looked almost as if he was sleepwalking. What right did he have to stand there, looking dazed and confused, as if he didn't know what was going on? He was the one who was in charge of it all, wasn't he? Merlin was the one being kept in the dark now.

But he didn't ask about that.

"Here," Merlin said sternly, picked up the jar and held it in his outstretched hand. Arthur's brow knitted in confusion. Merlin kept his voice level and calm, trying to put as little emotion as possible in it. It wasn't as hard as he would have thought.

"If you want to get rid of me so badly, you can help me get better. The sooner I heal, the sooner you can watch me walk out the gates."

Arthur cringed, and Merlin felt a perverse sort of joy watching it. It seemed as if he was about to say something, but then he stepped forward and took the jar from Merlin's hand. He looked at it as if it was some strange exotic item he had never seen before.

"Can't you heal yourself, with magic?"

Merlin was surprised to find that Arthur's voice had gone through the same transformation as his own room had: it was still the same voice but yet it seemed smaller, less imposing. Arthur's voice that could send chills down the spines of both knights and robbers – it did nothing to Merlin now, nothing except confuse him with the unexpected question.

Merlin shook his head, and then nodded towards the salve:

"I could probably make that more effective, but I never did get the hang of healing spells."

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur shivered. It felt as if someone had walked over his grave. He handed the jar back to Merlin.

"Do that then."

Merlin seemed surprised.

"Really?"

Arthur nodded.

"I think you've hid this from me long enough, don't you?"

It could have come out as an accusation, but Merlin's unwavering eyes unsettled him so much that everything he tried to say came out as whispers.

Merlin looked down at the pale green content of the jar and muttered some words that Arthur didn't understand. Arthur had thought he'd just imagined it in the great hall when Merlin and Morgana had fought, but now he saw Merlin's eyes change colour again, from ocean blue to the colour of embers and molten gold. The little jar glowed for a while, and the salve turned pure white. Merlin handed it back to Arthur without a word. Arthur had so many questions, all the ones he had thought up in the council room and now a whole set of new ones beginning with why Merlin wanted him to do this, but he couldn't speak so he took the jar and sat down on the bed, carefully as if not to make a sound, and settled down behind Merlin's back.

The sight made his head swim. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and took a deep breath. Reached for the jar. Put salve on his fingers. Reached out.

IYîYîYîYI

It was strange. Merlin had spent years dreaming about how it would be to reveal his secret, and then years trying to forget that dream. Now here he was, finally, incanting a spell, a small, simple, harmless one, right in front of Arthur, and neither of them even spoke. They should be talking. They _needed_ to talk, about a lot of things. But then again, talking hadn't worked out very well in the dungeons. And if all those things had been left unsaid for five years, they could wait a while longer.

When Arthur sat down behind him, Merlin had to fight himself not to turn around. He wasn't sure whether he was trying to keep Arthur in his sight or just nervous that he would inadvertently hurt him. With the first touch he nearly gasped. The salve burned now, but it only hurt for a while, like putting your frozen feet into hot water: for a while it feels as if your feet will fall off, but then the pain passes and the blessed warmth spreads instead. But it wasn't the burn of the salve that made him bite down hard in order not to jump up from the bed. It was Arthur's touch, feather light against his back. He wondered what he had thought about, giving the jar to Arthur. That Arthur should see what he'd done, yes. To punish him, maybe, or was it to give him a chance to redeem himself? Whichever it was, he hadn't expected this: to sit here and be reminded of the handful of other times when Arthur had treated his wounds, on campaigns or hunting trips when no physician was at hand; reminded of the fever he'd come down with just a year ago that had brought Arthur to his bedside against both his own and Gaius' protests that he had better things to do; of the small, forced smile Arthur used these moments when he thought he was hiding his fear and concern from Merlin; of that light touch that he wondered if anyone else, even Guinevere, was aware that those large lumbering hands could achieve. Merlin had not expected to be overwhelmed with the longing to turn around and see the face of his beloved friend, only to remember that these wounds had been put there by that same man, and that if Merlin did turn around, all he would be able to think of was what that face had looked like while it happened.

If Arthur's heart could turn to stone over night, so could Merlin's, surely. So he buried his fists in the covers and stared straight ahead.

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur kept his touch as light as possible, barely touching the wounded skin at all, as he spread the salve over one wound at a time. With each touch the enchanted salve heated under his fingers and glowed faintly. The feeling was strange and disconcerting. _This is magic. Magic under my own fingertips._ Magic - and Merlin's skin. When for a second Arthur touched the smooth skin beside the wounds it was like having a bucket of cold water poured over his head. Merlin's skin. Of course it was. Of course this was still Merlin, the man was right here in front of him, in the battered flesh. What had he been thinking?

Out of some absurd sense of order Arthur tried to follow the line of each whiplash, but they criss-crossed each other so badly in the middle of Merlin's back that it seemed more like one big wound. And what was more, it had clearly been maltreated. What had Gaius been doing? The red and purple ridges were full of pus and ugly scabs. Arthur had seen many wounds – training and hunting accidents as well as the more brutal injuries of real battles; broken bones, open wounds, even severed limbs – and he prided himself on being able to keep a cool head even at the most terrible sights. But now he felt his stomach turn and his sight turning dim even as the wounds he had tended to were changing into thin angry red lines under the salve, eventually leaving only thin scars and some yellow and green bruising. He thought his hands were shaking, but he wasn't sure. It got to the point where he had to stop and put his head between his knees for a moment.

"You're not done," Merlin said, matter-of-factly.

"I know. I ... I can't ..."

"Can't help me?" His voice seemed so very cold, and Arthur knew he couldn't blame him but really, a voice shouldn't be able to give a man shivers, should it?

"Can't breathe," Arthur finished.

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin gave in to the urge to turn around. He shifted slowly on the bed, but it already hurt less than it would have just a little while ago. Beside him Arthur sat cross-legged with his head in his hands. It would have seemed affected if Merlin hadn't been able to hear to near-wheezing sound of the King trying to catch his breath.

"I didn't deserve it," Merlin said. He thought it had come out softer that he had intended, but there was no sign that Arthur had noticed. He just shook his blond head without looking up.

"No, I know you didn't."

"I even thought I did, do you know that? I thought that, alright, maybe I had it coming! Maybe, if it had been someone else, like, the family members of someone the dragon had killed or ... But not from _you_."

"No."

"Look at me. Look at me and tell me that I didn't deserve this."

Merlin knew he was pushing it. Arthur didn't take orders well, not even when he agreed with them. But Merlin had gotten away with it before. If you asked Arthur he would give you a different version of it, but Merlin knew he had never been the one of them that backed down.

Arthur looked up at him. His face was as white as the sheets.

"Not from me," he said. Merlin realised that Arthur had knowingly left out the question of whether or not he had deserved it in the first place, but he could hear that he meant what he said.

_Now you're sorry? Now you sit there looking pale? Do you have a heart or don't you?_

"Then how could you do this?"

IYîYîYîYI

_Yes, how could I? I didn't even realise this was what I was doing._

"Because three days ago, in the hall, when you stood there ... I thought it was a trick. I thought, Morgana must be lying. And you were denying with all your might that you were a sorcerer, and I believed you. And then you just ... you changed. You just changed into a completely different person right front of me. And I – I didn't recognise you anymore. I didn't recognise you as the man I knew."

"So you're both blind and stupid. I'm not the one who's changed, you know. I have always been a sorcerer." Did he have to use that word? Did that word have to send a shiver down Arthur's spine? "I have always been the same person! So you didn't know every single little thing about me. Live with it! Can't you see you're the one who's changed!"

Arthur felt frustration rise again.

"What does it matter that you haven't actually changed! That's the worse part, don't you understand? Because I thought I knew you! I thought I had a friend, a_ real_ friend, a man to whom I would have entrusted everything that I value in the world!" _A man to whom I entrusted my heart_. "And I realise ... I do realise that maybe you're not some completely different person. I see that now. But you're not who I thought you were, either."

Merlin's face was red with anger and his eyes shone with the threat of tears. Why did this have to be so hard?

"I'm still here! It's still me! This is about _one _thing ..."

"Yes it's about one thing, it's about trust! You had mine and I thought I had yours. I could live with the fact that Morgana turned on all of us, or that my father never told me she was my sister. I can survive that Guinevere hasn't been sleeping in her own bed these last nights. I can even bear that Lancelot seems to be the one that everyone turns to instead of turning to me, and that it's only a matter of time before he and Guinevere leaves. But I can't lose you too. I can't."

"Then why are you sending me away? You're hardly the only one who's in pain, and you're not the only one who's lost something. I thought I had a friend too. One that no matter how much of a prat he is would never, ever hurt me!"

Merlin's chest heaved as he took a deep breath. Arthur saw his white knuckles closing around the bed sheets.

"No," Merlin said, switching from scalding to glacial in a second. "I take it back, you haven't changed. You've changed _back_. You're the same hot-headed prat and bully you were when we met. I thought you could be ... but I was wrong."

It was the same disappointment that he had seen in Gwaine's eyes, but so much worse when it came from Merlin.

"No! I have changed._ You _changed me. I lost my head, completely, and I'm so sorry. I _am _sorry, Merlin. I just, I thought the person I knew had never existed, and I lost it. And I know I was stupid, but – it felt as if you'd died. As if I was dying. It's been almost three days, and every hour I've either felt dead or wished I was."

Merlin turned away.

"Stop it. Stop it, Arthur, I don't want to hear it."

_Too bad. You'll have to, because I'm not turning back now. Never again._

"You have to believe me, Merlin: the man I was, the _boy_ I was before I met you – I wouldn't even recognize him anymore. All the things I've ever done that I've been proud of, anything I ever did that could be called good, I've done since I met you. Most of it I did _for_ you."

Why couldn't Merlin believe him? For all he had done, it wasn't he who had lied.

"And I'm not sending you away. Not any more."

Merlin looked up at him again.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm revoking your banishment. You can stay. Or leave, as you like. But ..." Arthur's voice began to shake. It would be so easy to stop, to walk out, to let Merlin sit here and sulk. But then there would be no future for them, and there would no future for Camelot. _One of us will have to be the first to be honest_. "If you think that maybe, someday, long from now, when we both have wrinkles and beards and gray hair, that you can find it in your heart to forgive me ... I want you to stay."

Merlin's expression of bewilderment didn't change.

"Why? You were so bitterly determined that I should leave a couple of days ago, it was like talking to wall. What's changed?"

"I've come to my senses. I've heard ... I've spoke to Lancelot and Gaius and I'm beginning to get an idea of ..."

"Of how I've been saving your arse for years?"

Arthur's pride rebelled against that statement, but he bit it down.

"Yes, that."

_Come on, Merlin. Thaw a little. Just a little bit. Show me that I'm making some progress._

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin hadn't even been aware that his hopes had begun to rise until they began to turn sour. He had an idea where this was going, and it wasn't ... what wasn't it? It wasn't _enough_.

"I thought Lancelot was locked up in his room. Has he been let out?"

"Both he and Gwaine were let out a few hours ago."

Merlin ignored the buzzing feeling in his fingers.

"When the alarm was sounded?" he asked

"Yes."

"The alarm was sounded because ... we're under attack?"

Arthur swallowed. Maybe he was catching on to the fact that he was back on thin ice.

"Yes. Morgana and Morgause are heading towards us with an army. There's been an emergency council, and Lancelot told us ..."

_I bet he did. He's been trying to tell you for three days and you wouldn't listen._

"That it was me who defeated them last time! So you let me out because you needed my_ help_?"

Behind Merlin something began to rattle.

"No. I let you out because I realised I've always _had_ your help."

It was funny, in a dry, twisted way, that this was exactly what Merlin had always wanted to hear, the words he had been waiting for. Now he couldn't stop himself from slapping Arthur, _hard_. Arthur had the nerve to look surprised. Merlin held his own shoulder in pain as he yelled:

"You haven't realised _anything_!"

_I am not your tool. I am not your weapon. I am not your shield. Not anymore. It will take more than that now. So much more._

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin's eyes turned golden again and Arthur found himself unable to look away. At the edges of vision he saw the loose items in the room slowly beginning to levitate.

"The things I've done, the things I've gone through, for _you_!" Merlin yelled, and punched Arthur in the chest. The punch was weak, but there was something in Merlin's voice that sounded like thunder rolling in the distance.

"All the times I've saved your life, since the _day_ I became your servant, saved your father's life, saved this entire kingdom! The only thing I ever wanted for _myself_ was that one day, I would be able to tell you, and you would give me at least _one word_ of gratitude, and all along you've treated me like an _idiot _..."

Merlin punched again, and at the exact same moment a boot flew through the air and hit Arthur on the shoulder.

"... and then you do _this_, and _now _you come crawling for _my help_?"

The entire bed shook under them, and things were flying by Arthur's head with such speed that he couldn't tell what they were. He tried his hardest to keep his head cool and not panic. It almost worked.

"_Well, it's too little!_" Merlin yelled.

Something hit Arthur in the back, and he lost his balance and his battle against fear at the same time.

"_Too late!_"

Merlin struck at him again, and Arthur was about to duck. But when he saw the wound that stretched up over Merlin's shoulder open and blood ooze out, he flew forward instead and grabbed Merlin's arms.

"Stop it! Stop, you're hurting yourself!"

"_Why would you care?_" Merlin's voice cracked, there were real tears rolling down his cheeks now, his arms were shaking in Arthur's grip, and Arthur's heart was breaking.

"Because I love you!"

Arthur saw Merlin's eyes widen before something sharp hit him in the back of his head. He screamed in pain and the whirlwind around him mercifully stopped.

"No, you don't," Merlin said.

"You know I do. I told you. Well, as good as anyway."

Arthur touched his head and his vision turned white for a second. His fingers came back bloody.

"What, after you pulled me into bed, stinking of wine? That's not love, Arthur, that's lust!" Merlin still sounded angry, but maybe he was out of breath because his volume had decreased considerably.

"No! Well, yes, that too, naturally," Arthur said. Was he babbling? He felt dizzy. "But I'm not ... 's not about that. I've _always_ loved you."

Merlin looked highly doubtful.

"I_ thought_ that you_ used _to love me."

"You don't just stop loving someone," Arthur said.

"I know that!" Merlin spat. "That's the problem, isn't it?"

_Why is that a problem?_

"This really hurts," Arthur heard himself whisper.

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin's hands picked up the jar of their own accord. He really hated himself sometimes.

"You're such a child," he muttered. "Hold still."

He searched Arthur's head for the wound.

"That's your problem, you know that?" he continued, not really thinking about what he was saying. "You're a big, selfish child who thinks he can have everything he points at, and that everything's about him, and that trust is only about never lying. But maybe trust is trusting that I care about you, even if I have to lie."

When he touched the wound Arthur pulled his head away in surprise. It really must have hurt. It was a nasty cut, but the salve made it heal almost completely.

"But if you know someone's lied, then how do you know when they're telling you the truth?"

Arthur said it in a way that made it sound like a philosophical question, but it still felt like another accusation.

"You think it's been so easy to lie to you? You think it didn't cause me any pain? It felt like a little piece of my soul was torn away each and every time."

Arthur nodded.

"Gaius told me about ... when you told me that Morgause had lied about my mother. What you gave up then. That the truth could have been so much more beneficial for you. I ... I wouldn't have thought about it that way if he hadn't said it."

"You wouldn't have thought that keeping you from committing patricide could be an unselfish act from my side?"

"Do you have to put it like that? You told one lie and you upheld another, much worse one, is it so weird if I would find that a bit troubling? You just ... you made that decision on your own. You decided what should pass as truth, as reality, for everyone else."

"What choice did I have? I didn't stand there making some big ominous plan like you make it sound like, I made a spur of the moment decision to keep you from making a horrible mistake that you would have regretted until the day you died. I lied so that I could protect you, like I always have! Do you know how hard it is sometimes to save you from your own idiotic self?"

Arthur smacked his arm. Not hard enough to even hurt under ordinary circumstances, but now it sent shockwaves through his upper body, bringing the old pain back to his attention.

"Aaah! What the hell, Arthur!"

"How can you talk like such a prat!" Arthur snapped.

"How can you act like such an idiot!" Merlin replied.

They looked at each other.

Arthur's mouth began to twitch, and he burst out laughing.

"I don't see what's so funny," Merlin said, fighting against the evil forces that were willing him to smile.

_It's not funny. They're just words, they're not inherently funny, and this is not the time to laugh._

Arthur waved a hand apologetically at him.

"Sorry, just ... head wound, dizzy, sorry," he said, still giggling.

Then he suddenly stopped and looked at something on the floor. Merlin followed his gaze. There beside the bed lay the chess board, cracked, and with blood on one of the corners. Arthur stared at it.

"Can we fix this?" he asked, almost inaudibly.

"You can repair it, patch it up, but you'll still see the mark," Merlin replied.

"But it will work, at least, for playing on," Arthur said, meeting Merlin's eyes.

"Maybe," he admitted. "Probably. But it won't be the same as before. Not at all. Not ever again."

Arthur swallowed and nodded.

"I know that."He paused. "So, what happens now?"

"Now you finish treating my wounds, and I help fight Morgana off. Not as a favour to you, but because I care about the other people who live in Camelot. We'll just start there."

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur hesitated.

"Maybe I should call for Emma instead?"

But Merlin put the jar in his hand and turned around.

"No. You should do it. And in the meantime you can tell me what Morgana is up to this time." When Arthur still didn't move he continued: "_If it would please you, Your Majesty._"

The familiarity of Merlin turning his titles into derogatory terms shook Arthur out of his daze. He picked up the jar again. Almost half of Merlin's back was already smooth, albeit discoloured. He began working on the other half while he told Merlin of Olaf's meeting with Morgana and Morgause and the different theories that had been presented about the sisters' plans. When he got to the part where he had told the council that the ban on magic was to be lifted, he nearly expected Merlin to slap him again for not telling him that first thing. But Merlin just stiffened slightly and didn't say a word about it, so Arthur quickly moved on by asking what Merlin thought about their enemy.

_At least we still have that – a mutual enemy._

"It would be so much easier to fight them if I only knew what spell they were using," Merlin muttered. "But since they're using a kid it's possible it's not really a spell in that way at all, just ... raw magic. And that's harder to get to, in a way, but in another way it's easier. You don't have to worry about finding the exact right counter spell, but you do have to worry about having more power than your opponent has so that ..."

Merlin trailed off and Arthur stopped.

"You think she's more powerful than you?" he said, carefully.

Merlin actually turned around to glare at him. The bed creaked in a way it hadn't before Merlin's ... what did one call that? A magical outbreak?

"What?" Arthur asked.

"How old is this girl?"

"Olaf said perhaps eight or nine years old."

"You think I have less power than a nine year old girl?" Merlin frowned.

"No, I didn't, at first, but then you seemed worried, and how am I supposed to know, this is hardly my area of expertise!"

Arthur took advantage of the new angle to apply salve to the wound on Merlin's shoulder. Merlin jumped slightly and looked down on Arthur's hand as if it was a spider that had crawled up his arm. Arthur quickly pulled it away.

"I don't know how much power the girl has, but I'm still willing to bet I had more power when I was in the cradle. That's not the point. What worries me is that if they have these smoke-knights acting like an entire army. That probably means that the other three have tied their own power and control into it as well. They might need her for this particular trick, but they are far more powerful than her. I could beat each of them one to one, but if they have bound all of their powers together ..."

Merlin interrupted himself again and his expression changed from concentration to confusion and then finally to some form of surprise.

"Are you ... am I ... am I _scaring_ you?" he asked, incredulous.

Arthur shook his head automatically.

"No, I ..."

He noticed that he had unconsciously moved back on the bed and grabbed hold of a pillow. _Oh. Well, there goes the last of my pride and manliness, I guess._

"Yes," he admitted. "You are. A little bit."

Merlin seemed to think about that.

"Why?"

"_Why?_"

If Merlin couldn't see that, then Arthur didn't even know where to begin.

"Shouldn't I be the one scared of you?" Merlin said, his calm tone belying his words.

"Should you? I'm not so sure."

He looked at Merlin. The thin arms, the pale chest that wasn't scrawny, more athletic really, but a far cry from the broad torsos of Arthur and the knights.

"The first time we met," Arthur said, "or perhaps the second time, I told you I could take you apart with one blow. And you said: 'I could take you apart with less than that.' And ... well I just now really realised that you weren't the delusional one."

For the first time in days he saw Merlin's face soften.

"And I'm not the violent one, either," Merlin said.

He turned around again, and this time Arthur immediately picked up the jar and put salve on the last three remaining wounds. "And even if I was," Merlin added. "I couldn't, you know. Take you apart, I mean."

"Why not?"

Arthur's hand moved up the final wound that moments ago had continued over Merlin's shoulder but now only reached the top of his shoulder blade. To his surprise Merlin's hand reached to grab his.

"Because there are forces in this world more powerful than magic."

Arthur felt something move inside his chest at the sight of their hands together. Suddenly it seemed like fire was burning the inside of his eyelids.

"You could, Merlin. You know you could. You could crush me like a fly with one word."

Merlin turned around so that he sat on the edge of the bed. He still held Arthur's hand.

"I'm not leaving you, Arthur. I'm not forgiving you, either. Not now. Maybe not in a long time. But I'm not leaving you."

Arthur pulled his hand back to hide his face as he felt tears beginning to fall down his cheeks. He felt Merlin rise from the bed and heard him open the cupboard.

"Are we going down to see the council, then?"

"They're eating," Arthur said without looking up. "Or I guess they're finished by now. But I said we'd meet again in the afternoon."

"Have you eaten?" Merlin asked. "Not that I need to care anymore."

"No."

"You should do that first then. And if I'm free to walk around as I please I want to see Gaius, and Gwaine and Lancelot."

"You're free to, but it would probably be wise to stick to someone else at all times. To avoid anyone getting the same idea as Sir William."

Whatever Merlin was doing, he stopped. Arthur turned around and saw him standing in the middle of the room (not that anywhere in the room wasn't essentially "the middle of the room") wearing a blue tunic. For a second there was something about the contrast between Merlin's white skin and the bright colour that made him look almost – _magical_, Arthur thought and nearly laughed.

"I didn't mean to kill him," Merlin said.

"I know. He meant to kill you, though. He was scared of you. He's not the only one who will be."

Merlin sighed.

"They don't need to be."

"Telling them that won't help. Not coming from you, and not coming from me, either, now. You'll have to give them the time to realise it for themselves."

Merlin picked up a belt from the cupboard.

"Why wouldn't they listen to you?"

"Because Sir Hector has been going around hinting that Morgana was right. That I let you live, and now let you go, because you've ... _enchanted _me. And any protest from me on that account would only strengthen the suspicions, of course."

"But I haven't," Merlin said.

Still a master of stating the obvious then.

"Not with magic, anyway," Arthur replied. "But of course, that would only look marginally better in the eyes of the court."

Merlin suddenly spent far more concentration on fastening his belt than any grown man really needed to.

"Did you really?" he asked. "Did you really change the law?"

"I told the council I would. There are papers to write and sign and other papers to be torn apart before it's truly a new law, of course, but at the end of the day it's my word that counts."

"That must have taken some courage."

Arthur scoffed.

"Well, a sad king I would be indeed if I didn't at least have courage. What with Gwaine being stronger than me and you having magic I'm beginning to feel a bit powerless."

Merlin gave him a strange look.

"Courage, strength and magic," he said.

That sounded familiar.

"That's what the man at the bridge to the Perilous Lands said."

"Yes, it was."

He had been courage. Merlin had been magic. Gwaine had been strength. And according to the bridge keeper, all had been needed to complete the quest.

"I have a lot of catching up to do, haven't I?"

"Yes," Merlin said and moved to the door. "You do."

Arthur got up as well, but had barely taken two steps before Merlin stopped him.

"Stay right there."

"Why?"

Merlin's eyes flashed and Arthur's breath caught in his throat for a moment. A piece of cloth and a jug of water came flying through the air into Merlin's hands. He poured water on the cloth and reached around Arthur's head.

"You have blood in your hair. Can't let you go downstairs like that. I don't even want to know what they'd think."

Arthur's ears rang with the violent beats of his heart. Merlin was standing so close, too close. _So close and yet so far away._ But he was staying, and Arthur was happy. Wasn't he? Happier than he had the right to be. Merlin finished, and the cloth flew back to where it had come from.

"Alright," he said. "Let's go."

Arthur smiled to himself. First Gwaine lectured him and gave him orders, and now Merlin. Merlin had always been giving him advise of course, whether he had asked for it or not, and even outright orders like this, but it couldn't be denied that there was a distinct difference between being addressed in an disrespectful way by a peasant boy and being given ultimatums by a man who he might actually be a little bit afraid of – and who knew that he had a weakness for him.

Arthur felt every hierarchal structure around him twisting and changing, and the end result was still uncertain. In the worst case he would lose all the power he had. But maybe – and he hardly dared to think it, not yet – but maybe in the best case, he could share it.

IYîYîYîYI

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><p>AN: Spot the Disney's-Sword-In-The-Stone reference! ;) Virtual cookies for the winner.


	41. The Counsel of a Wizard

_A/N: __**THANK YOU!**__ +410 reviews! I don't even know where to begin. You're all awesome._

_There was some discussion about the words "sorcerer" and "warlock" in the reviews, and I thought it was interesting. I have to admit I mostly go with sorcerer/sorceress because that's the word most characters in the show seem to use. I know the dragon always says witch and warlock, as he did in his short appearance here too, but does anyone else? Merlin usually just says that he "has magic" or something equally vague if he mentions it at all. I figured, in the last chapter, that Merlin would perhaps use the term sorcerer there only to be a bit "in your face" towards Arthur it right now, since he's clearly getting a bit fed up. Then again I have been using "Wizard" in chapter titles, which is a word I'm not sure is mentioned in the show at all, (is it?) so I guess I'm not being entirely consistent._

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_And that's just how it is  
>and how it's always been,<br>it's where my reason stops  
>and something else comes in,<br>I know it doesn't make sense, but still:  
>calleth you, cometh I,<br>and that's how it is."_

- The Ark, _Calleth You, Cometh I_

IYîYîYîYI

**The Counsel of a Wizard**

Merlin's heart was in his throat as he and Arthur walked down the hallways. As they walked along in silence he had the strange impression that he could feel the air between them, as if it were part of him, as if some part of him, probably the magic, could reach out even when his arms remained at his sides. Lies and secrets had always made up a wall between them. No matter how close they had gotten to each other that wall had been there to stop that last step, to stop them from completely seeing each other, stop them from reaching over to truly touch. Merlin had wanted the lies to end so badly. He didn't even think he had admitted to himself how much that dream had meant to him. But now he had to wonder whether he had ever been prepared to really do it – whether, if it had been up to him, it wouldn't always have stayed a dream. The wall had been sad, yes, but it had been safe. Now the wall of lies had been torn away, but with such a brutal force that large parts of their friendship had gone away with it, and there was now a deep wide rift in its place. The rift was deep and dark and more frightening than the wall ever had been. The rift didn't stop you in time like the wall had. You could keep walking and fall, fall oh so deep, down into the darkness. But in contrast to the wall, there suddenly existed the possibility to see each other, clearly, honestly, and just maybe they could even reach over it. Merlin just had to decide whether that was still something he wanted to do. Their world was so far from safe, now. It was also so much larger than before.

IYîYîYîYI

They walked into the great hall. Most of the people who had met that morning seemed to have moved on, but a few were still seated by their empty plates: Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival, Elyan and Gaius all turned around to look when Merlin and Arthur walked in.

Gaius immediately stood up and walked over, gently grabbing Merlin by the shoulders, careful not to touch his back.

"Merlin! Oh, my dear, dear boy!"

Even with everything that had happened, and everything that was still happening, weighing down on his shoulders it was hard for Arthur not to smile when he saw the joy in the old man's face. Merlin smiled back, but it seemed as if his mind was elsewhere.

"Are you alright?" Gaius asked.

"Alright enough. Partly thanks to you, I've gathered. Really, I'm fine, Gaius."

Lancelot walked up and embraced him as well. Arthur ignored the nagging little grain of jealousy in his chest. It wasn't very hard. After all, he'd had plenty of practice. He looked at the people at the table instead. Elyan and Percival were watching Merlin, Elyan still with obvious wariness, Percival with that blank expression of his. Gwaine on the other hand looked straight back at Arthur and nodded. That actually did make Arthur smile for a second.

"I'm going to get something to eat," he said to the room at large. "We'll meet again in an hour. Tell the others."

"Even Hector and Bors?" Lancelot asked.

Arthur considered this.

"It's probably best to. Now that I have already said we would all meet again, it would seem like an insult if they were not called back. And a bit suspicious, probably."

"Why suspicious?" Merlin asked.

Arthur looked at him. He could feel how fragile things were between them now, and he really didn't want to do or say anything that could make things worse, but the political situation was fragile too – that was why he needed Merlin to get to the same page as him, quickly.

"Why would it be suspicious if I changed my mind and stopped consulting the people who don't approve of magic right after I've been up to see you on my own?" Arthur said, wishing desperately that he would need to say no more for Merlin to understand.

The look in his eyes said Merlin did understand. But that was the only comforting thing about that look.

"I'm not going to pretend to be powerless in front of them, Arthur. And if we are going to discuss how to stop Morgana, I can't. Convincing them that I'm powerful enough to help also means convincing them that I'm powerful enough to be a threat."

"Then can you at least convince them that you'll follow my orders?"

Merlin gave him a funny look.

"Only if they've never heard about me before."

Under any other circumstances, Arthur would have laughed.

IYîYîYîYI

Later, they walked into the council chambers together as well. They still hadn't said much to each other since they left Merlin's room, but they were standing together near the doorway as if they were part of one single, quiet entity.

Everyone else, except Vivian and Adric, was already there. Only two or three had been standing up when the door opened, but when the King entered the room, everybody rose. They rose for Arthur – but they were all looking at Merlin.

Gwen ran up to him and hugged him, throwing her arms around him without thinking. Merlin winced. Gwen stepped back instantly.

"Mind the back, would you?" Merlin said in an attempt at light-heartedness.

Her face was the very image of regret and embarrassment.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't think. You just looked like you were fine and I forgot ... Did I hurt you?"

_Oh, Gwen. Don't ever change._

"I'm fine. The back is mostly healed, it's just tender. It feels like it should be the colour of blueberry jam."

A grey-bearded man that Merlin recognised as Sir Hector studied him intensely.

"It must have healed quite fast, then," the man said.

Merlin stared back.

"It almost seems like magic, don't you think?" he replied.

He hadn't thought it possible for the mood to get any more awkward. He had been wrong.

Beside him, Arthur cleared his throat.

"Please, everyone take a seat."

No one moved. Sir Hector, Sir Bernard and Sir Bors as well as Percival and Elyan were looking at Merlin, and the others were looking at them.

"He is to sit with us?" Sir Hector asked, in a slyly polite tone as if he was asking what time it was.

"He is," Arthur confirmed.

Sir Bors shook his head.

"I'm sorry, my lord, but I will not sit down with a man who murdered one of my brothers in arms."

"That was an accident," Merlin said.

He looked at Arthur for some form of direction. Bors was not having it.

"You flung him across the room and crushed him against the wall!"

"Come on," Gwaine said. "It was a short fall that no one could have expected anyone to die from. He must have hit the exact wrong spot."

"Mustn't he just," Bors muttered.

Merlin's hands clenched in frustration. One week ago, this was the kind of situation where he would have tripped Bors up or embarrassed the knight in some other small but, for Merlin, rewarding way. One week ago, no one would have noticed. Now anything he did would be recognised as his work – it wouldn't cause embarrassment, it would cause fear, and that was a bad idea. It was also an idea that looked incredibly tempting right now.

Arthur began walking towards his seat with deliberately loud steps.

"Anyone who refuses to sit down at this table, refuses to sit down at the same table as the King. That will be noted," he said.

On a whim, deciding it was just on the right side of provoking, Merlin flicked his wrist and all the chairs flew out. Arthur caught the back of his own chair without even looking down. Everyone else stared. Merlin felt that he must have looked as surprised as them – it was as if, for that single moment, Arthur had read Merlin's mind.

"Now please," Arthur ordered, "take your seats."

Arthur stared down Bors and Hector as everyone began to sit down, and didn't even throw a glance at Merlin when he sat down beside him. The way people were looking at him, Merlin felt his heart beat at twice its normal pace in his chest. Had he already destroyed things? He didn't know how to do this. He didn't know how to be this person, Merlin the Little Warlock, _Merlin the Sorcerer_, in public. He had a sudden impression of what it must be like to be Arthur, and found himself wondering whether Arthur felt this awkwardness when he was being _The King_ in public, or if he was so used to that part that the awkwardness came when he was being _Arthur _when they were alone. Then, for the briefest of moments, Arthur's hand brushed his under the table, and the sense of being able to feel the air between them (_of being able to feel _Arthur_ through the air_) returned. After that his heart began to beat as normal again.

IYîYîYîYI

Lancelot didn't really fancy himself the overly curious type – he was usually of the opinion that people's personal friendships were nobody's business but their own – but as the meeting progressed he began to feel that he would have given a whole lot to know what had passed between Arthur and Merlin. There was a tension between them that made them almost uncomfortable to look at. He wasn't sure anyone else had noticed, though: there was enough tension in the room already.

"So we agree that there is no point in trying to surprise them, then," Arthur said. They had agreed this since they had no idea of where Morgana and Morgause were and they would be as likely to be surprised themselves as anything else. "We will simply have to wait until tomorrow and make sure we are as prepared as possible, and prepared for as many scenarios as possible, when we ride out to face them."

"The best thing would be if I went out to meet them alone," Merlin said.

Arthur bristled.

"Absolutely not!"

It sounded like anger, but experience allowed Lancelot to hear the concern behind it.

"Why not?" Merlin questioned. "It's the best way, no one else would have to get hurt!"

"How would we know you weren't just running out to join them?" Sir Bernard asked.

"Never mind about _that_," Arthur said and turned to look straight at Merlin, effectively making the rest of them feel like spectators instead of participants. "How do you think it would look if I sent you out to fight my battles for me while I hide in here like a coward!"

"It worked perfectly well as long as you didn't know about it!" Merlin spat out.

Lancelot saw Arthur's face beginning to turn red.

"I'm sure it did, but I know now, and I _am_ going to at least try to talk to my sister before I attack her."

"She won't want to talk to you. She wants you dead."

Arthur looked away from Merlin at those words. Lancelot had never really met Morgana. He had seen her at the celebration his first time in Camelot, when she had still been Uther's beloved ward and the pride of Camelot, and then only briefly when they had freed Camelot from her infamous reign two years ago, when she had become the enemy. It was hard to imagine that Arthur had grown up with that woman. That they had been as brother and sister once, long before they knew that they actually were.

"I think Merlin's right," Gwen said, quietly. "Morgana was far beyond talking a long time ago."

Arthur looked resigned.

"I think you are both right. But if she wants to kill me I will not give her the pleasure of having a good reason. I will apologise to her for the wrongs done to her by me and my father, then I will ask her to leave, and if she still wants to destroy us then we will have the moral high ground."

"So we are bringing an entire army?" Merlin asked.

"It would be a good strategic move," Lancelot suggested. "If we come to the field with an army of knights, they will not expect to be attacked with magic. Merlin could hide among us, it would give him a chance to surprise them."

"And every knight that rode out onto that field would be risking his life," Merlin said. "Defeating them, if I can defeat them, will take a while, and in the meantime any number of knights could get slaughtered in the same way as King Olaf's men where."

"Lancelot said you had a weapon that can kill anything," Percival said. "A magic sword?"

Merlin looked surprised.

"That wouldn't help here."

"Why not?" Sir Hector asked.

"It's just _one _sword, and I don't have it anymore."

"How dreadfully inconvenient."

There was a coldblooded sort of aggressiveness in Merlin's face that Lancelot didn't recognise. He wondered if that was something new, something that had sprung from the events of the last few days, or if it had always been hiding somewhere under the surface.

"Actually it's perfectly convenient. It had already been misused. That sword was meant for one person and one person only, and where it is now only that person can retrieve it."

"And that person is you?" Hector continued.

"No. That person is the man who will be the king of all Albion."

Sir Hector and King Olaf both laughed. Gaius and Arthur stared at Merlin.

"There will never be _one _king of _all _Albion," Olaf said with mirth in his eyes.

"Won't there?"

Merlin's voice was deadly serious, and both Hector and Olaf slowly restrained themselves.

"What about the spell you used to kill the griffin?" Lancelot asked.

Merlin's eyes lit up.

"Yes, that could work."

"Will it kill immortal knights?" Arthur asked.

"No, but they aren't really immortal knights, are they? They're not ghosts, they're not bodies of men that once lived, they're just ... solidified smoke. They're just spells. The spell I used then could be put on each knight's sword, and they should be able to fight against Morgana's knights. At worst, our swords would hurt them as if they were real, at best, they would dissolve at the first hit."

This time it wasn't the politicians or the old men that protested. It was the knights.

"I don't know," Percival said. "I don't like the thought of anyone putting any sorts of spells on my weapon."

He reached for his belt in a protective gesture. Elyan looked just as sceptical and even Gwaine and Leon seemed doubtful. No one tinkered with a knight's sword. It was part of him. Lancelot watched Gwen and Merlin look at each other and roll their eyes.

"She could still keep creating new knights couldn't she?" Leon wondered.

"Yes," Merlin admitted. "But it would buy us a lot of time. And lives."

IYîYîYîYI

Eventually, a plan was made. Arthur gave the last orders before they disbanded.

"We will have every gate and every wall under extra guard until tomorrow," he said. "Tomorrow we will ride out to meet Lady Morgana. We'll begin to gather our forces on the courtyard at dawn."

As Lancelot walked out of the room he heard Sir Bernard and Sir Hector whispering to each other behind him.

"Like watching an unruly dog pull on a leach," Bernard said.

"Yes, indeed," Hector agreed, "but who is the dog, and who is the master?"

IYîYîYîYI

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><p><em>AN: Also, virtual cookies went to _Kirikouchan_ and _Norwegian anon_ who caught the (admittedly vague) Disney reference:_

"_Merlin: Ah, you know, lad... that love business is a powerful thing.  
>Arthur: Greater than gravity?<br>Merlin: Well, yes, boy, in its way, I'd, uh- Yes, I'd say it's the greatest force on Earth."_

_(- Du förstår pojke ... kärleken är en stor makt.  
>- Större än tyngdkraften?<br>- Ja du, pojke. Jag vill mena att det är den starkaste kraften på jorden.)_

_Although I always think that the one line in _The Sword in the Stone_ that sounds most like "our" Merlin is his views on jousting: "'_Science_'? *makes disapproving sound* One dummy trying to knock off another dummy with a bit of a stick."_


	42. Once Upon a Time

lYîYîYîYl

"Don't fool yourself,  
>she was heartache from the moment that you met her.<br>My heart is frozen still, as I try to find the will  
>to forget her somehow.<p>

She's somewhere out there now."

- Jeff Buckley, _Forget Her_

lYîYîYîYl

**Once Upon A Time**

Arthur had woken before dawn. He could sleep until noon on a lazy day if Merlin – or more recently Guinevere – didn't drag him out of bed, but on days of journey or days of battle, his body had always woke him up at the right time by itself.

Now he was standing on the battlements by the main gates, looking out over his kingdom. As much of it as was visible, anyway. The sun was about to rise, and its rays had already begun to turn the bellies of the clouds a vibrant shade of pink. _Clouds_. They had gathered like a great, white mountain range all around the horizon. The abnormal heat of the last few weeks was about to bring on a storm at last, then. It hadn't exactly been unexpected. It was, on the other hand, unusual to see this kind of storm clouds at the very beginning of the day, but maybe even the weather could sense that battle was on its way.

On a morning like this one, perhaps four years ago, but so distant now that it felt like a lifetime ago, when Arthur and the knights had been setting out to kill some magical creature or another, Morgana had ran down the stairs on to the courtyard and pleaded with him not to go because of some nightmare that she'd had. He had wondered, that time, what had gotten into her. Now he wondered exactly when that care had disappeared.

With that thought a new memory presented itself, a much older one, from when they were still children. Arthur had fallen ill. Gaius had been able to coerce his father to leave his bedside during daytime at least, but no one could ever stop Morgana from doing what she wanted. She had crawled up into his bed, sat cross-legged by his feet, told him stories and news, and teased him about all the fun he was missing. Neither of them mentioned that she was missing it too in order to be there with him. How old had they been then, ten or eleven maybe? All their childhood, when Uther had been in meetings, at ceremonies or away travelling, the two of them had had each other. Most noblemen with children lived outside Camelot and there hadn't really been any other children of their own standing around. Arthur remembered Leon, but Leon had been older than them. He forgot the difference often enough now, but back then the three or four years had seemed like a lifetime and Leon might as well have been an adult. It had been him and Morgana, alone. They had fought all the time, teased each other to death and once they'd had Geoffrey write up a formal contract for them that said that Morgana would never reveal that she had beaten Arthur during a sword practice (or it might have been several) in return for Arthur never breathing a word about the time when Morgana had panicked about seeing a snake in the garden and Arthur had carried her on his back all the way up to her chambers, and over to her bed, and then checked every corner and cupboard in the room before she'd agreed to come down. They had been about fourteen, then. Among all these memories, Arthur tried and tried to see where things had begun to go wrong – but all he could come up with was that she had been slipping away slowly for a long, long time without him noticing, and that was not a very comforting thought.

Down on the courtyard some of the knights were getting ready, but he suspected that most of them were still only waking up. That gave him an idea. He considered to let that idea be, because it wasn't really the time, but it was something he had wanted to for such a long time, something that might be able to temporarily wipe this darkness from his heart, and it was simply irresistible.

lYîYîYîYl

Merlin woke with a start. No, it was alright. He was in his own bed. His back felt fine. It had all been a nightmare, only a nightmare. He closed his eyes and drifted off again.

The next time he woke someone was shaking his shoulder gently.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead. Are you going to get up and help save the day any time soon?"

Merlin opened his eyes and peered up at Arthur.

"Hm?"

His body felt heavy and warm and his eyelids wanted to drift shut again. Why was Arthur in his room?

"Morgana and Morgause gathering an army outside the walls, ringing any bells?"

Merlin tried to think about this, because it sounded like something important, but he failed and his eyes closed again.

"Why'd you want me for," he murmured, "go ask the knights."

"How deep have you slept Merlin?" Arthur sounded like he was about to laugh, and that was unusual and strange, but Merlin couldn't quite recall why it was unusual and strange, because it used to be common and natural, didn't it? "I want _your_ help because _you're_ the one who's a sorcerer."

Merlin's eyes flew open. "I saw you, remember?" Arthur continued, and then in a sadder voice: "Actually, no, please don't remember. Just ... get out of bed and help me save my kingdom, please?"

_Oh, right. It wasn't a nightmare._

Suddenly everything came back to him and he shivered.

"Yes. Magic. Flogging. Dungeons. Morgana. I remember that. Why are you in my room?" he asked, his voice already sounding colder to his own ears than it had a moment ago. He sat up.

"To wake you up," Arthur said. "I _had ... _this idea that I'd get you back for every horrible way you have ever thought up to wake me, so I began by opening the window, and it squealed like a banshee, but you didn't even stir. And then I saw you lying there and ... well, it didn't seem like a nice thing to do."

"Never stopped you before."

Arthur looked down on the floor. He looked so far from regal when he did that, you'd think the crown on his head had ended up there by mistake.

"Well, it was easier to get away with behaving like a prat when I hadn't actually been one."

Merlin picked up his pillow and threw it at him. Arthur caught it instinctively.

"You've always been a prat, Arthur."

Arthur looked at the pillow in his hands and actually smiled a bit. Merlin was simultaneously pleased and irritated by the sight.

"Maybe you're right," Arthur said quietly.

"I'm always right, haven't you learned?"

Arthur looked up at him.

"You can't be heard to talk like that in front of people, remember? You unnerved them enough yesterday."

"But I can talk like that to you, here?" Merlin said and threw his legs over the edge of the bed.

"I can hardly protest right now, can I? Although, I doubt you're actually _always_ right. Just ... ehrm ... most of the time."

Arthur quickly turned around when Merlin stood up.

"What?" Merlin picked up a tunic. It was inside out and he began to turn it as he spoke: "You saw the way my wounds looked yesterday and now you're getting squeamish about some scars and bruises?"

Arthur didn't reply and Merlin suddenly realised that he was standing stark naked in the middle of the room and that the King's neck was a rather bright shade of red.

_Oh, right. Brilliant_.

He hadn't exactly forgotten that particular new development in the chaos of the last few days, but he hadn't really sat down to think about how it would affect ordinary situations like this, either. The greater concern had been whether ordinary situations like this would occur again at all. Now he was fighting back a blush of his own. He looked down at his body. It wasn't that he had ever considered himself ugly or even particularly bad looking, but he couldn't really see that his form would be worthy of much admiration either. Yet here he was, Merlin from Ealdor, making a king blush and stutter. He swiftly pulled the tunic over his head and reached for his trousers. His back smarted as he did.

_This is definitely the strangest week of my life_.

Arthur cleared his throat.

"So, Morgana. Do you think, maybe not today, but at some point … that we will have to kill her?"

_Maybe not today? _Did Arthur really think they had an option? Of course, they might just chase her away again, but she would come back, over and over. What other solution was there left to hope for?

"Probably," Merlin answered.

Arthur was silent for another moment as Merlin finished dressing. Then slowly, tentatively, he began again:

"When we had just met, and you lay dying from that poison and my father wouldn't let me go out and get the cure, Morgana came to my room and asked me if I thought Camelot needed the kind of king who would follow his father's orders or the kind who would risk everything to save a single servant. That was when I decided that I had to do it. Without her, you probably would have died."

Merlin picked up his boots and deliberately banged one against the bed as he sat down on it to pull them on, so that Arthur would know it was safe to turn around.

"Back then," Merlin said, "she would have done the same herself, for me or for Gwen. Do you think she would, now?"

One boot.

"No."

"There you are then. She's not that person anymore. Try not to think about the past, Arthur."

Two boots. Merlin stood up. Arthur studied him.

"I never thought you would be the one to tell me not to follow my heart, Merlin."

"Does your heart tell you that you should let your sister kill you, take over your throne and be a tyrant to your people?"

"No. Point taken. But it does tell me that I love her."

It sounded strange now, but Merlin remembered the first year he had spent in Camelot. The friendly banter between Arthur and Morgana. How blinded Merlin himself had been by Morgana's beauty. How they had all joined together to save Mordred.

Mordred who was destined to kill Arthur. Merlin looked at Arthur now. So many times Merlin had regretted letting Mordred go, and so many times he had wished he had helped more so that maybe the boy wouldn't have turned against him. After the things that had happened now, would he be prepared to let Mordred kill Arthur?

He thought about the fear on Arthur's face yesterday when he had begun to talk about his powers, and then about how he still had promised to change the law. He thought about how Arthur had folded in on himself and begun to cry when Merlin had assured him that he was staying.

No. He was never going to let that happen.

"If you let her, Morgana will take your heart and stomp on it. Just like she did to your father. Look how that ended. And she loved him too, once, didn't she?"

lYîYîYîYl

Arthur tried not to think too much about the last months of his father's life. The vacant look in his eyes. The way you could never be sure if he really heard you when you were talking to him. He remembered how Uther had doted on Morgana, all their lives. Arthur didn't think she had ever truly appreciated it for what it was – a sign of love. Arthur might not have known that Morgana was his sister in blood, but he had always known that she had been as a daughter to Uther.

_She_ was _a daughter to him. That was the reason for all his care and attention, all that time._ And once, Arthur believed she had indeed cared for Uther as well.

"I thought so, at least," he answered Merlin. "I don't know for how long she had been acting before she revealed her new self."

Merlin gave him a guarded look.

"Do you want to know?"

What did that mean?

"Do you know?"

"I think I do," Merlin said. "Since the time you thought she had been kidnapped by the druids. When she had just found out that she had magic. She was so scared ..." He paused. "I wanted to tell her that I had it too, that she wasn't alone, but I was a coward. I had Gaius. She had no one. She thought Uther wouldn't forgive her, not when it was magic. That's what pushed her over the edge, I think. Realising that the man she loved as a father would have her killed if he found out what she was."

Arthur thought again about the grey figure of his father sitting silent at the window, forever looking towards the gates.

"I would have had you killed," he said, "yet here you are."

"Would you have?" Merlin asked.

Arthur wasn't sure what to answer. Hadn't his actions the last week been bad enough? Hadn't he come close to driving away both Merlin and Guinevere, and turning himself into that lonely man by the window?

"You didn't," Merlin said. "Even when you lost your head, like you said yourself, you couldn't kill me."

"No," Arthur admitted. "But that's not much to stay around for is it? The hope that maybe your friend will be so kind as to _not_ have you executed."

"No, but it's enough."

Merlin's face was still cold, but so earnest, and Arthur knew that he meant it. He couldn't help but to think that Merlin deserved better than that. _Better than me_.

"But did you know? That I wouldn't do it? Didn't you ever want to ... I don't know, follow her?"

"Maybe I just have a bit more faith than Morgana."

lYîYîYîYl

They had Merlin dressed up as a knight so that Morgana and Morgause wouldn't be able to spot him. It was strange, seeing Merlin in armour. Arthur hadn't seen that since Ealdor. The image of Merlin standing on the courtyard and donning the cape on top of that was both wildly wrong and strangely fitting. Merlin in Pendragon red.

"Here's the scrawniest knight I've ever seen!" Gwaine laughed and punched Merlin's shoulder.

"He's not as scrawny as he leads you to believe," Arthur said before he could stop himself.

He could have bitten off his tongue. _And in front of Gwaine of all people, who'll never let you hear the end of it._ Gwaine raised his eyebrows. The "how would you know?" was written on his bemused face and Arthur felt a blush rising from his neck.

"… obviously, since he can carry up all that metal," he quickly added and looked in another direction.

"Well, I can always make it weightless," Merlin said.

"Really?" Gwaine looked pleasantly surprised and Arthur was immensely grateful for the change of subject. "Could you do that for mine, too?"

"No!" Arthur said. "I don't care if I just made it legal, you don't get to use magic to get away from anything that might be a bit difficult, _Sir Gwaine_. Don't enable his laziness, Merlin!"

Merlin smiled at Gwaine.

"I think the answer is 'no'."

"Yeah, seems like it."

Arthur turned around to adjust the saddle on his horse. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gwaine lean in and whisper something to Merlin. Merlin blushed and shook his head.

"No?" Arthur heard Gwaine say.

Merlin's face had turned into steel.

"Sorry, I just thought ... never mind. I'll go see if Percival needs any help. That horse he was given a while back is mad as a hatter."

And with that Gwaine walked off.

lYîYîYîYl

The sun had just appeared over the ridge of clouds and most of the knights were ready when Guinevere appeared. She walked up to Arthur and hugged him.

"Be careful," she said.

"I'm always careful, Guinevere."

"I mean it! Take care! Don't trust Morgana to play fair. She won't."

"She never has," Arthur said and was overcome by memories both of their recent and ongoing time as enemies and of Morgana's continuous cheating during their childhood games.

"Don't worry, my lady," Lancelot said, walking up behind them leading his horse. "We'll bring him home in one piece."

Guinevere turned to him.

"Look after yourselves, too."

As Arthur watched the two of them standing there, he was transported back to the tunnel under Hengist's castle, to the moment when he had seen Guinevere hold Lancelot's hand and realised for the first time that he wasn't the only one in her heart_. _The way they looked at each other now, the tension in the air, even the pity in Merlin's eyes as he looked at Arthur, it all mirrored that day.

_And when we came back home, Morgana threw her arms around Guinevere's neck and I thought that at least I had reunited them, at least Morgana was truly happy. And she was._

lYîYîYîYl

As the army rode out of the gates, Gwen stood on the stairs to the courtyard and watched them leave – Merlin, Arthur, Lancelot and the army of Camelot. Merlin, the one friend she had left. She had been so happy to see him yesterday, to see him walk into the room like he still belonged there (_because he does_) and to realise that he wasn't leaving. She had thought that he would, that no magician would ever stay in Camelot, and she had dreaded it. Not only for Merlin's sake or her own, but for Arthur.

Gwen had never really understood the way the two of them talked to each other, constantly trading gibes and insults and never with a word betraying what their friendship meant to them, but she thought she understood both men well enough. She had known Merlin for a long time and knew he could look after himself – now she knew it better than ever – but for all Arthur's fighting skills and his training and the wisdom that she knew he possessed, she wasn't sure Arthur could. For as long as she had really known him, Arthur had always had Merlin right by his side. Arthur and Merlin. Merlin and Arthur. She wasn't even sure there would be an Arthur without Merlin. Not the Arthur she knew, at any rate.

Then there was Lancelot.

In the glaring sunlight, Gwen felt cold. She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered. Two nights she had spent in Lancelot's chamber. One alone, when he was in the dungeons. And then the next one.

They had only shared the bed, really. They had even both been fully dressed. But when Lancelot had slept behind her with an arm around her waist she had felt more at home than she had done in Arthur's bed for a long time. If he had woken up she had no doubt she would have broken her marriage vows. She could feel it now, the memory of his lips, the taste of his mouth, his hands on her waist, the warmth of his body seeping through her clothes. Yet the next night she had slept beside Arthur, and felt like a traitor towards both of them.

She sat down on the stairs and hid her face in her hands. The courtyard was empty, and who knew how many of those who had just that left that would return home. She thought about Merlin again. Merlin, who could do what she never could – ride beside Arthur in battle, ride beside Lancelot, help them and protect them – and who would be fighting Morgana.

Gwen remembered summer days like this one when Morgana had walked around her room singing. The sun had shone in through the open windows in her chambers and she had laughed and joked with Gwen, given her little gifts sometimes, and smiled at her with that sweet, loving smile that Gwen didn't know if she was capable of anymore.

Once upon a time.

lYîYîYîYl

Morgana's army was already waiting for them, a big, black mass with the red rowan tree painted on its banners and its knights' shields. Camelot's army halted, and Arthur and the two knights to the right and left of him rode forward into the middle of the field.

At first there was no movement on the other side, and Arthur began to believe that Morgana wouldn't come, but then she and Mordred broke out of the crowd and rode up to them. They were both wearing chainmail, completing the illusion that this was an ordinary battle. Mordred, who really should have no use for it, had his hand on the hilt of a sword and for a second Arthur felt a stabbing pain right below his heart.

The duo pulled to a halt about two yards in front of him. Morgana smirked.

_Are you still there under that grinning mask of yours, Morgana?_

"Arthur," she said.

"Morgana."

"If you have come to discuss the terms of your surrender, I'm sure we can work something out."

As if on cue, the sun disappeared behind the approaching clouds. Clouds that had long ago stopped being the colour of peaches and were now an angry shade of grey.

"I have come to talk to my sister," Arthur said.

Morgana's smirk disappeared.

"Speak."

Arthur took a deep breath.

"You don't have to do this, Morgana. If you turn back and leave Camelot we won't follow you, any of you. You'll be left in peace; we won't care what you do as long as you stay out of the kingdom's borders."

"And leave _you_ on my throne? I think not."

Morgana's horse was tramping its hoofs restlessly.

"It's not your throne, Morgana. Even if you were a legitimate heir, the throne would still have fallen to me. I'm sorry that our father didn't acknowledge you, and I am more than sorry for the persecution of everyone with magic that both he and I have led, but after what you did the last time you have to understand that there's not a single man behind me who wouldn't rather lay down his life than let you back into Camelot."

"Then why are you talking to us?" Mordred asked.

"Because she is my sister. We grew up together, Morgana. I know you. I know this is not the person you wanted to become."

Thunder rolled in the distance. Morgana had to raise her voice to make herself heard.

"Do you really think you know me, Arthur? How can you stand here and call yourself my brother, when I was never anything but your father's poor, orphaned ward? The ungrateful recipient of Pendragon charity? The sibling I have, I have I nursed back to life after she nearly died on your floor."

_It was never like that! Why are you rewriting your own history?_

"_Morgause_ is the one who's turned your head!" Arthur yelled. "She's using you!"

"She's my family! She's my kin and my kind and neither of us will be free until Camelot has fallen."

"Three years ago you didn't even know she existed! And we might not have known that you and I had the same father either, but I have always looked on you as a sister."

Morgana laughed. Behind her Arthur saw the first flash of lightening.

"Really, Arthur," she cooed. "The way you used to look at me – that was never any way to look at a sister."

lYîYîYîYl

"_Tell me, do you think her ... beautiful?"_

It had never really been more than a thought. Not except that one time, when they had barely been teenagers, crouching in an alcove. It had only been a kiss, but it had been Arthur's first, and hers too. They had never spoken of it ever again.

lYîYîYîYl

Morgana raised her arm into the air and then let it fall. Arthur was not familiar with the strange language of spells, but there could be no doubt what the next word that came over Morgana's lips translated as:

_Attack._

lYîYîYîYl

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><p><em>AN: As sharp eyes might be able to tell, I have now caught up on series 4, yay!_

_(_Kat_, now I really want to know what it was you were about to write!)_

_I have to say this though: *minor spoiler alert* I have always liked how the show switches back and forth between drama and comedy, it's part of what makes it special, but sometimes there's a prize to pay in the form of continuity and emotional realism – particularly, people have died in this series and not one of them was even mentioned in the following episode! Really, writers? Do people not grieve in Camelot? Is "Out of Sight, Out of Mind" the show's new tagline? On the other hand, it is clear that I've been having a terrible Colin&Bradley-abstinence without even noticing because omg I can't stop smiling at them. Their brilliantness, their chemistry and their pure acting skill kills the plot holes just as well as their characters kill magical beasts. _


	43. A Wizard's Duel

_**A/N:**__ 1: This has taken me ages, I know. Apart from being overtaken by the duties of real life, I also fail writing action and because of that I wasn't really enjoying writing this chapter as much as I have the others. That really slowed down my writing process. So ... there's probably not as much action here as there should or could be. But this isn't really an action story in that sense anyway, is it? _

_2: There's a **poll** up on my profile about my next story. Go and have your say! But first, here's the next instalment of _this_ story:_

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_Through these fields of destruction  
>baptisms of fire<br>I've witnessed your suffering  
>as the battle raged higher<br>__And though they did hurt me so bad  
>in the fear and alarm<br>__You did not desert me  
><em>_My brothers in arms"_

- Dire Straits, _Brothers in Arms_

IYîYîYîYI

**A Wizard's Duel**

The knights of the Rowan Tree flew towards them. Arthur wondered if the hoofs and feet even touched the ground at all. They probably didn't need to.

To his left, Leon signalled for Camelot's forces to advance. Arthur and Leon both tried to turn around to join the others, but the horses wouldn't move even an inch. Their eyes met in shared horror. The roar of the two armies out-voiced the storm.

"You're not going anywhere, are you Arthur?" Morgana said. "I've saved you the front seats."

The five of them stood in a circle of calm, like the eye of a storm, as their armies collided around them. Arthur held his breath for the moment of truth.

_Let this work. Just let it work._

A cheer of triumph rose from the knights of Camelot as each usually killing strike turned their opponents into smoke in front of them. In a heartbeat, they had gotten the upper hand. They were still vulnerable to the enemy's weapons; yards away from Arthur, one of his knights got run through and fell down dead, and howls of pain from further away proved he wasn't the only one, but all around them Morgana's knights were falling back. Morgana looked around in growing anger.

"You're using _magic_!"

"Don't sound so judgemental, Morgana," Arthur called over the sound of the fray. "So are you."

To Arthur's right, Merlin removed his helmet.

IYîYîYîYI

It was interesting, and informative, for Merlin to see the reactions of the two opponents in front of him. Mordred's eyes flew wide open, and he pulled the reins in so hard that the horse backed away. Morgana seemed equally surprised, but not necessarily daunted.

"Merlin."

Morgana's voice quavered a bit.

Merlin sent a silent spell to break Morgana's paralysation of Leon's and Arthur's horses. He saw Arthur gesture at Leon, and Leon reluctantly leave to join the others. Morgana did nothing to stop him.

"Morgana," Merlin said, "it's time to stop this. Now."

Morgana smiled at him, but her lips were shaking.

"This will never stop, Merlin. Don't you see that? He let you stay to use you against me, but he will turn on you like the Pendragon he is."

Merlin felt the first drops of rain against his face.

"You're fighting a war that's already over!" he yelled. "Uther is dead, you have his name, his laws have been changed. _What more do you want?_"

He put emphasis on every word. He watched Morgana's face for a reaction. The one he found wasn't what he'd expected – it looked like a light went out behind her eyes. She turned to Arthur.

"You changed the law – for him?"

She laughed, but it was a cold laugh with a note of hysteria ringing beneath the pretended mirth. Arthur stared at her. He had stopped being familiar now and his face had turned to the stony expression he usually used for facing his enemies.

"I could have changed it for you, too, if things had been different," he answered her.

"You can tell yourself that if you like, Arthur," Morgana sneered, "but we all know the truth here."

"The truth is that magic is legal again."

"And I'm still not welcome."

The rain that had been a drizzle turned to a downpour.

"We've been through that," Arthur said.

"Yes," Morgana agreed, "we have. 'All the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't put this family together again'."

Lightning struck.

IYîYîYîYI

Lancelot struck one after one of the enemy knights and watched them turn to smoke before him, smoke that sank down to the ground and simmered like foamy water around the legs of the horses. It was a clean sort of battle, to not have to kill actual men, and Lancelot thought he could get used to it. Even though there had been a couple of deaths within their own ranks already, there was a feeling of victorious joy running through the ranks of Camelot's army. They surged forward. They were winning ground. And then lightning struck.

The roar of thunder was instant. When it rolled away, the enemy's knights began to revert to smoke – not just the ones struck, this time, but all of them, every rank and file of them, until Lancelot could see Arthur again over the sea of mist. He could see Merlin, beside the king, Morgana and the boy in front of them; and in the distance he saw Morgause and the little girl, alone on a hill.

For a brief moment Lancelot felt a rush of relief, but as the cheer began to rise around him his heart clenched in dread. The smoke that had curled around the horses' legs pulled back towards that hill, like the ocean pulls its water back from the shore before letting it rise into a new wave. Lancelot tried to call back his brothers in arms, but the only one he managed to stop was Elyan. Side by side they watched the smoke gather into a wall, a wall that spread to encircle their entire army. They watched as the wall came alive, sprouting arms and swords and horses' heads, until the moment later a new dense line of enemy knights attacked them from all sides at once. The knights who got attacked from behind never stood a chance. Now there were cries of pain, the clashing of swords, and knights in red moving to gather in groups – some making it, others getting killed before they got to their brothers.

_Come on Merlin. Where are you?_

Just as they began to regain control of the battle, the enemy once again sank into a sea of smoke and pulled back for another wave. This time no one rushed to follow. Instead orders were screamed out and they huddled together, braced for the next attack.

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin was getting soaked in ice-cold rain, and as the second wave of knights ran towards Camelot's army, he felt his patience running out. He aimed a spell at Morgana, simple but powerful. She blocked it with a wave of her hand and threw a similar one back at him.

"You believed you could defeat me that easily?" she asked. "I think you've let the druids' fairytales go to your head."

Merlin drew a deep breath. He felt magic in the air, like a vibrating tone. If he could only get hold of the spell they were using, of the girl's magic ... Away on the hill, he saw Morgause looking in their direction, not turning away even when screams of pain came from behind them.

_Worried about your sister, are you? Perhaps you take the druids' words a bit more seriously that she does._

"It was worth a try," he said.

Arthur threw him a worried glance. Poor Arthur, who didn't know that the spell Merlin had just used was only child's play, and that it had been weakened by the fact that there was a ring of magic surrounding Arthur. Merlin had never forgotten what the dragon had said about Mordred.

Morgana shook her head and smiled at him.

"Poor Merlin, is that all you have?"

It wasn't a funny situation, but Merlin felt mirth tug at the corners of his mouth.

"Why are you playing soldiers, Morgana? To kill off a couple of knights? Where's the achievement in that? They're no match for either of us."

"But it's so much fun," Morgana replied with a smirk.

Merlin heard Leon shout for his men to regroup, and he _felt_ the girl's magic regroup. Magic was humming around them, and there was something new, something unfamiliar, just within his reach... It felt like he was pulling a thread towards him, waiting to see what it was tied to. Gingerly, so that it didn't break. He had never tried anything like this before. He rode closer to Morgana, and in the corner of his eye he saw Morgause's horse move closer to them as well. He sensed more than saw that Arthur was doing the same.

_Please don't. I just need a bit more time._

"I warned you Morgana," Merlin said. "I told you, the moment you revealed who I was, that the game is over for you. You thought you were making Camelot weaker, removing one of its protectors. Instead you removed my weakness. I don't have to worry about hiding anymore. I can use all my power to stop you."

He could feel the _contours_ of the spell. It was almost ...

"You don't know anything about power, Merlin," Morgana said.

"I know you don't have enough of it to pull this off alone. You and your sister are controlling it, but the girl creates it. What is it she can do that none of you can replicate?"

_... there_.

"Is it something like this?" he asked.

IYîYîYîYI

When the wave of black smoke rolled back towards Lancelot and the other knights, this time it transformed itself into a pack of wolves: hundreds of them, big as ponies, with glowing red eyes and mouths hanging open. Their approach made the earth shake. Around him, Lancelot heard the rustling of arms. Not one man around him showed any sign of fear. No knight ever would. But Lancelot didn't need to see it to know it was there.

As he raised his shield for the attack, something on the ground below him caught his eye. First it was just the glint of something golden, but then in a flash a thin golden mist was rushing past them beneath the horses, as if they stood in golden water. It grew denser, began to move, heaving, fluttering movements as if fish were caught in a net under the surface. It took a moment before Lancelot realised what was going on.

Ahead, the monstrous creatures got poised to strike. Some of them leapt into the air.

"_On me!_" Leon yelled.

It all happened in a matter of seconds. They drew arms. They braced themselves for the impact.

The air filled with golden wings.

A swarm of small golden dragons dove forward towards the wolves. When the creatures met, the wolves did not revert to smoke like the knights had when attacked with the enchanted swords. Neither did the dragons. Perhaps it was because they were the same type of creatures. The dragons' fire burned the wolves, and the air filled with pained howls. When the wolves caught a dragon, biting it around the neck, gold-coloured blood sprang from the wounds and the creatures fell to the ground, flailing. They were tearing each other apart.

"Should we charge?" Percival called out.

Lancelot looked at Leon. The other man seemed torn. Then Lancelot saw Leon's gaze stray from the battle raging in front of them to the body of a dead knight lying on the ground beneath him.

"We stay back," Leon called. "Do not drop your guard! Help the wounded!"

Lancelot helped picking up a wounded knight, pulling the man's mantle over him to keep the rain out his wounds, but all the while he kept a constant eye on the strange creatures fighting just yards away. Before either side had won, like a wave pulling back into the sea the wolves melted back into blackness and pulled back towards the hill. And like a wave crushing against the beach, the dragons crashed against the ground and dissolved in a roar of golden foam.

"What was _that_?" Elyan shouted over the noise.

Lancelot smiled.

"Merlin."

A new line of black, red-eyed creatures began to form, but the golden mist in front of them was growing more solid and more radiant every second. It formed a wall towards the knights, and on the other side it took on new shapes to fight the enemy.

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur had felt powerless in his life – when he had watched the morteus flower being crushed under his father's heel, when he had watched his father slowly fade away, when he had watched Gwen throw longing glances at Lancelot – but he had never felt so frighteningly weak and small as he did now. Why hadn't he gone back to the knights with Leon, where he belonged? Now he stood in a small spot of calm in a roaring sea of strange creatures, black and golden, fighting each other with teeth and claws in a flurry of fast motions and blood and blood-chilling wails. Rain had plastered his hair to his forehead and was running down his face. He suspected the ring around him, both protecting him and keeping him from approaching the people in front of him, was Merlin's doing, and if he wasn't honestly frightened by the chaos he found himself in, he would feel humiliated to be pushed to the side and protected like that without even having been asked.

Mordred and Morgana were hurling spell after spell at Merlin. Few of them seemed to take, but then again, Arthur wasn't sure what they were meant to do, so how could he tell if they were working? He could only tell, that in the outlandish battle that raged around him the golden dragons got closer and closer to the hill with every new battle. The black creatures kept changing, from wolf-like to bear-like, on to giant spiders and serpents , every animal that had ever inspired fear or dread in a man – or in this case, Arthur supposed, all that had ever scared a little girl – but the golden dragons only changed in size. He wondered if Merlin had chosen for his magic to manifest as dragons specifically, and if he had, whether it was because it was a symbol for Merlin's heritage, or because it was a symbol for Arthur's.

Lightning struck again and Morgana's horse flinched. Maybe she lost concentration, or maybe it was only a coincidence, but suddenly her reins were on fire. She dropped them, pulling her burnt hands toward her with a scream. Mordred instantly launched at Merlin, but Merlin turned and held up a hand and the boy's horse ran into an invisible wall. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could see a flash of blond hair. He looked towards the hill and saw Morgause charging down towards them. Her mouth was forming a scream, but he couldn't hear a sound of it. She was galloping through the fray, and she was leaving the girl behind.

The moment the girl was left alone, things began to change. The rhythmic waves of battle turned into a chaotic boiling. Among the black creatures there were no longer only whole animals, but things were appearing that were only parts of bodies: jaws of teeth biting without being attached to a head, claws ripping things apart without a body to give them the strength, swords swung through the air without a hand holding them. The calm circle around Arthur decreased and immediately he raised the sword he had drawn long ago, to be ready to defend himself. Mordred had been forced to turn away from Merlin to stop wolves' heads and bears' paws from tearing the flesh from his horse's legs. Arthur glanced over his shoulder and saw stray creatures get through the wall of gold and hurl themselves at his knights. He turned back and saw Morgause halt in the middle of this madness, unable to move forward and apparently realising her mistake. She shouted again, and this time she was close enough for Arthur to hear that she was calling her sisters name.

Morgana turned towards her, black hair flying in the storm.

Arthur and Morgana both watched as Morgause was hit by a sword held by an arm that did not by any stretch look human. The blonde woman fell of her horse and disappeared from view. The horse tumbled backwards, looking for a moment as if it had decided to sit down. Arthur saw it fling its head desperately, eyes rolling in their sockets, before it too vanished into the roaring sea of magic. Morgana screamed. She screamed in a way that seemed able to rip her lungs apart and even now the sound broke Arthur's heart.

"No! _Nooo!_"

Arthur looked at Merlin. This time, mirroring Morgana's first gesture of attack, it was the wizard who raised his arm.

IYîYîYîYI

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><p><em><strong>AN: *Minor spoilers for s. 4***__ I think the series has been a bit uneven so far, but I must say Arthur's wrath at Guinevere had me sitting in my chair thinking: "See! See! I know this guy!" Also, in that first ep of the series, Leon is totally on to Arthur worrying about Merlin a bit more than he should ... Oh, the glee of having your characterisations made canon! _


	44. Brothers and Sisters

IYîYîYîYI

"_You know how the time flies  
>Only yesterday was the time of our lives<br>We were born and raised in a summer haze  
>Bound by the surprise of our glory days<em>

_I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited_  
><em>But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it<em>  
><em>I had hoped you'd see my face<em>  
><em>And that you'd be reminded that for me<em>  
><em>it isn't over<em>_"_

- Adele,_ Someone Like You_

IYîYîYîYI

**Brothers and Sisters**

Merlin was taken aback by the way the girl's spell turned feral when Morgause left her side. While Mordred turned away to fight the creatures that where no longer making any difference between him and the knights of Camelot, and Morgana's attention turned to Morgause, Merlin watched the little girl away on the hill. It was far, so he wasn't sure, but he thought she looked scared. She'd been left alone, she was frightened, and she was losing control. There was one obvious course of action. The only thing that made Merlin hesitate for a second was the cruelty of it. The girl might not realise what she was part of – yet she was the key to making it stop.

Morgana screamed. Morgause was gone. And Merlin no longer had any choice but to make his move.

IYîYîYîYI

From the smoke and rain in front of Arthur, something rose. Great leathery wings heaved themselves out of the mist, lifting the body of a golden dragon into the air. It looked almost like the one his father had imprisoned; only you could see when it moved that it wasn't entirely solid. It was terrifying none the less, and it flew above the chaos of its fellow creatures, at great speed, straight towards the little girl. It opened its mouth and flames flew, so close to the child that for a second Arthur's heart stopped. Because that could not happen. Not in any world could he be watching Merlin set a child on fire.

She screamed. The sound cut through the wind and the rain like a knife tearing through a mere painting of a battle.

The dragon dissolved, and Arthur caught his breath again when he saw that the girl was untouched. But she had thrown her arms over her head in panic, and her horse was as terrified as her. It reared, and she was inches away from falling off before she grabbed the horses mane and clung on for bare life. The horse was black as night, and her hair was so pale it looked like silver in the dark and the smoke, and when it flew around her head, Arthur remembered her.

He had been on a battlefield, just like this one, lying wounded on the ground. The face above him had been changed both by years and by an expression of grief and pain, but it had been Merlin's face. Merlin holding him as his life left him, Merlin whispering his name, Merlin's tears falling on his face, Merlin kissing his lips when he faded away. And behind Merlin, Arthur had seen a woman. A woman he had known, getting up on a black horse, pale hair flying behind her, shouting in a broken voice for revenge.

Arthur urged his horse into a gallop, and flew towards the hill.

IYîYîYîYI

Lightning struck near them once more and the sound was deafening. The boiling sea of smoke and mist had cleared up almost entirely when the girl had covered her face, leaving only stray wolves and monsters and Merlin's golden dragons hunting each other across the field. Morgause's body became visible and Morgana immediately jumped off of her horse and ran towards it. Merlin turned around and saw the knights, who had been pushed back, begin to move forwards again, easily killing the few creatures still in their way.

"Traitor," Mordred said behind him.

Merlin turned back, ready to say "I'm not the traitor here," but Mordred had already turned his horse around and was riding away. Merlin was about to head towards Morgana when he saw Arthur – on the hill, struggling to calm the girl's horse. And that was exactly where Mordred was heading.

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur reached for the girl, stopping only for a second to think of how silly it was to believe he knew this girl because he had seen someone who looked like her in a dream. How silly it was to believe he knew her name.

"Mim!"

The girl, who had been clinging on to the horse like nothing else existed in the world, opened her eyes. She didn't move, but she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Mim?"

The eyes grew wider.

_Gods. It's really her name._

"Mim, I'm going to try and pull you off the horse, and when I do I need you to let it go and hold on to me, do you understand?"

Her face nearly looked green with fear. The horse reared again.

"You'll hurt me!" she shouted.

Arthur shook his head.

"No one will hurt you! If they try to, I will hunt them to the end of the world. Trust me."

He reached out, hoping beyond hope that the words might resound with her even though she hadn't said them yet, even though hopefully she never would. He grabbed her arm and pulled.

Mim almost fell into his lap, flung her arms around his neck and held on as tight as she had to the horse. Arthur carefully steered away from the crazed animal.

"It's all right, I've got you, I've ..."

The girl froze in his arms, and the second later Arthur heard a string of words being shouted from behind him and to the left in a language that was rapidly becoming familiar, although still unintelligible. Mim might have understood it though, because she let out a scream that almost made Arthur's skull crack, and this time it was Arthur's usually undaunted horse that reared. Arthur leaned forward to compensate, trapping the girl between himself and the horse. A flash of light that must have been aimed at him now hit the horse's left side. Blood suddenly covered Arthur's left leg. The horse stuttered, and Arthur barely had a second to try and throw himself off with the girl in his arms before it fell.

Arthur hit the ground shoulders first. It hurt, but nothing like getting his leg trapped under the horse would have. He had to blink away the tears that formed from having the breath knocked out of his lungs before he could look up and see Mordred's face, all ice and stone, staring down at him from the height of his horse. The sky was a strange purplish gray colour behind the young druid. Mordred reached out his hands, making strange gestures, and began to talk again. Mim took up her screaming again, and Arthur was torn between wishing he could understand what Mordred was saying and believing he would die more peacefully without the knowledge.

Just as Arthur was about to close his eyes and commend his spirit to the gods, Mordred's arm caught fire. The next moment, Arthur's view was blocked by another rider storming in, and his heart clenched at the sound of Merlin's voice almost wheezing out the words:

"Not today, Mordred."

Arthur struggled to his feet on the muddy ground, with Mim still hanging from his neck, while the two sorcerers fought. He could hear the voices of his men further away and turned to see them approach. He also saw Morgana, running on the ground, covered in mud up to her hips and her face pale as a sheet.

"No, Merlin, no!" she screamed. "Leave him, Merlin! Leave him alone! _Please!_"

In the distance, Arthur could see Morgause's golden hair spread on the ground. She was dead then.

"I've already let him live to long," came Merlin's voice from above.

It was a cold, hard voice, stating a cold, hard fact. It was probably right, too – Arthur remembered their conversation this morning – but ruthless none the less. The legs of Mordred's horse buckled and Mordred fell down to the ground. Morgana hurled herself towards him, covering his body with her own. Merlin aimed his fingers at them and his eyes glowed.

"Merlin, don't!"

There was a second of silence when they both looked at him through the rain. Merlin looked down on him, and his eyes were still golden and his arm still stretched out into the air. Morgana looked up, her expression as unreadable as Merlin's.

Morgana was the first to regain her composure, and with a few muttered words and a whirlwind she made herself and Mordred vanish one more time. Merlin's eyes turned blue again as he looked down on Arthur and his face relaxed, betraying sadness and a hint of a familiar annoyance.

"Why did you stop me?"

Arthur didn't know what to say. He shrugged.

"Why did you stop?"

Merlin didn't seem to have the answer to that either.

"Take her, will you?" Arthur said, prying Mim's arms away from his neck in an attempt to hand her over to Merlin. But she shouted and kicked at him.

"No! No! He's the monster man!"

Arthur saw Merlin's jaw drop at that epithet.

"The monster man? What's that supposed to mean?" Arthur asked.

"He made the monsters!"

"Well, hate to break it to you Mim, but so did you."

Arthur felt at a loss. He had no habit of talking to children like this.

"I promised I wouldn't let anyone hurt you, didn't I? Merlin's my friend. He won't hurt you. Our only quarrel was with the ladies you were travelling with."

He looked up at Merlin, trying to silently plead with him. Merlin's eyes flashed gold and Arthur discovered this day could still amaze him when the rain stopped and the sky began to clear. It had been as dark as evening, but now the light returned. Merlin rode up closer and reached down a fisted hand in front of Mim's face.

"I'm sorry if I scared you – _Mim, _is that your name? I didn't mean to frighten you. I only used the same trick as you, because it's a great trick, you know that don't you?" Merlin smiled at her. "I hope you'll forgive me."

Merlin opened his hand, and the last remains of black smoke whirled up from the ground and formed a big black flower bud in his palm. It opened, slowly spinning, and unfolded into a white water lily, the edges of each petal sparkling like silver. Arthur knew it was meant for Mim, and Mim couldn't take her eyes off of it – but neither could Arthur. He'd never imagined magic being used for something so pointless and powerless as beauty alone. The flower shone with a pale light, and as it kept spinning it sent shadows dancing across the palm of Merlin's outstretched hand. Their eyes met, and Merlin continued:

"Trust me."

The smile was gone now. A pair of unwavering blue eyes waited for the answer. Arthur felt the hairs on his neck rise as he nodded.

"Can I do that?" Mim asked quietly.

"I'll teach you," Merlin said, and grabbed her around the waist. This time she was quiet as he pulled her up in front of him on the horse, only staring at him with a guarded kind of reverence. Arthur got the feeling that he'd just done something final. All that had been up in the air for days and days had begun to fall back down, and the pattern it was forming was not entirely visible yet, but it was unquestionably new.

He shook himself and went off to get Mim's horse that was still prancing around, only slightly calmer than a while ago.

"Be careful!" Merlin yelled behind him.

"_Be careful"? _Now_ he yells "Be careful"?_

Arthur turned around and smirked at him.

"Do you doubt my horsemanship, Merlin?"

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin watched Arthur approach the skittish horse, using gestures and soft words that might as well have been, well, _magic_ as far as Merlin was concerned.

"Do you think he can do it?" Merlin asked the girl who was sitting in front of him.

"Mhm," she said.

Merlin looked at her. She was watching Arthur just as intently as he had been.

"You are really easy to impress, aren't you?"

"No," Mim answered absentmindedly. Merlin was sure she hadn't really understood the question, but he still smiled.

"That's my girl."

Arthur swung himself up on the black horse just as the knights finally came up onto the hill.

IYîYîYîYI

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:__ A short chapter, but pivital. Review, pretty please? If only to reach that 500-review-count! ;) And vote in the poll at the top of my profile about what kind of story you want next._


	45. The King's Ward

_A/N: There probably won't be any more updates on this in 2011, so I would like to tell you now that I've written a fluffy (compared to this, at least) little one-shot as a __**Christmas gift for you**__ for putting up with all this angst. I'll upload it around Christmas Eve, so keep your eyes peeled for that! ;) (It's not one of the stories in the poll, that's longer stuff that will come around later.)_

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_I was born in a big, grey cloud,  
>screaming out a love song.<br>All the broken chords and numbing cries;  
>what a place to come from."<em>

- Florence & The Machine_, Remain Nameless_

IYîYîYîYI

**The King's Ward**

As Lancelot and the other knights rode towards the hill, they heard both the Pendragon siblings scream, and then saw the whirlwind of a spell that carried Lady Morgana and the boy away. And then, miracle of all miracles, Merlin turned his head towards the sky and the rain stopped. In an instant, the sky began to turn blue again.

"The gods help us", Sir Bernard muttered.

"It seems they already have," Lancelot replied.

They arrived at the top of the hill just as Arthur sat up on the girl's horse. The way Arthur turned around and looked straight at Merlin for one silent moment made Lancelot feel like they had interrupted something.

"Are you alright, my lord?" Leon asked.

Arthur nodded, and threw another glance at Merlin who pulled up his reins and rode up to his side.

"How many dead?" Arthur asked Leon.

"About twenty, my lord. And many more injured."

Arthur's eyes swept over them. He met Lancelot's gaze and nodded, he nodded at Elyan and Percival and a few of the older knights. As he stretched his neck to see behind them, his expression slowly went from relieved to worried.

"Where's Gwaine?"

The question startled Lancelot. When had he last seen Gwaine? He began to look for him as well, cursing himself for letting Gwaine slip his mind so completely just when they finally had become such close friends.

"Don't worry," came a slurred voice from the back of the crowd. "I'm right here."

Arthur shook his head in an exasperated manner, but Lancelot saw his chest sink as he let out the breath he'd clearly been holding. He caught sight of Gwaine and could tell that the knight was injured, though not so bad that he wasn't still sitting up on his horse.

"Right," Arthur said. "Let's head back to Camelot. Gather up the dead and wounded. Those who need to hurry to get to a physician are allowed to ride ahead, and those who need to go slower to avoid pain may do so."

"Can't the sorcerer help us?" someone called from behind Lancelot.

Merlin opened his mouth, but was cut off by Arthur.

"Magic can't solve everything. We're all mortal, and will remain so."

"I am a physician, too," Merlin said, only loud enough for those closest to him to hear.

"And they won't understand the distinction," Arthur muttered. "We're close to Camelot, anyone who's still alive will survive the trip."

"I can help!"

"No, Merlin, you can only make things worse."

Lancelot watched the confused look on Merlin's face as Arthur rode away, heading up the return. Arthur stared at someone for a brief moment as he rode past the knights. Lancelot looked in the same direction and saw Sir Hector returning the glare.

IYîYîYîYI

The walls of Camelot loomed above them when Merlin rode up to Arthur's side again. Arthur knew it was him without even looking.

"That didn't help much, did it?" Merlin said.

"What didn't help what?"

"This," Merlin helpfully supplied. "It didn't help with ... have you seen the way they look at her?"

Arthur looked at him and saw the girl curled up in Merlin's lap, asleep as far as Arthur could tell.

"It's as if they'd like to behead her on the spot," Merlin continued, "and count it as a bonus if they managed to chop me in half at the same time. Why are they so ..."

"Scared, Merlin," Arthur filled in, "they're scared. It's a lifetime of fear rooted deep in their bones, you're not going to change that in one day. 'Sorcerers can't be trusted', remember?"

Merlin looked him over.

"Well you got over your fear, so why can't they?"

Arthur felt a tired smile settle on his face. Merlin was staying, and Arthur was glad. Arthur didn't believe Merlin would betray him or hurt him – not consciously anyway – not anymore. But _fear_?

"I'm still scared of you, Merlin. And if I seem calm about it it's just because you have terrified me for years now."

"Very funny," Merlin said.

Arthur could have replied to that, but chose not to – it led into a discussion he would gladly delay as long as possible. He had a feeling he had terrified Merlin rather badly that night before all this had started as well, and he'd prefer it if they could both forget about it. Either way, Arthur understood exactly what kind of looks Merlin had been getting. Arthur had already been asked twice why "the sorcerer had let his kin go", and only once, by Leon, heard: "Thank god Merlin made it." Arthur's heart had warmed a bit at that. He needed to tell Leon soon that he was the most clear-sighted, level-headed and reliable of all the knights and that Arthur was never going to forget that, nor let anyone else forget.

IYîYîYîYI

A guard came running over the court yard, his chainmail rustling with each step. Gwen was unsure how long she had been there, unmoving, waiting for the return. She had waited in the rain, crouched under the doorway, and she had seen the skies clear and known that it was over, one way or another. Now she stood and received the message that the army was returning, led by the king. But her pulse still didn't slow until they rode in on the courtyard and she saw Merlin, saw her brother – and both Lancelot and Arthur. She threw herself around Arthur's neck, thanking the gods that he had come home safe, that they had won. And she looked over his shoulder at Lancelot, who looked away the moment their eyes met. She was so relieved that they were both alive. Yet the pain came back full force, because she still had to choose. She felt like a monster. Tears began to well up in her eyes and she hid her face, leaning her forehead on the cool metal of Arthur's armour.

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin followed Arthur into the stables, with Mim still in his arms. The horse he'd taken was acting up again – how it could ever have been given to a little girl, Merlin didn't understand, but maybe it had been driven a bit crazy by all the strange sights and sounds it had just experienced – and Arthur had to struggle to get it into the box. Just when it seemed he had, it reared again and Arthur had to jump back.

"I thought I told you to be careful," Merlin admonished.

He heard someone come in behind them and turned to see Gwaine leading in his horse.

"Don't be such a girl, Merlin," Arthur said and closed the box door.

Mim looked up at him with confusion.

"Are you a girl?"

"NO!"

Merlin heard Gwaine burst into laughter behind him.

"I thought I told you to go see Gaius!" he yelled over his shoulder.

Gwaine raised his arms in surrender and left still laughing. Merlin turned back and saw Arthur shaking with restrained laughter as well.

"I like her," Arthur said, "she can stay."

"Can she?" Merlin asked. "I heard Hector ask you if you really meant to keep her here."

"And what did I answer?"

"That we'd return her to her family."

Merlin felt Mim squirm in his arms just like she had when Arthur had uttered the words earlier.

"Indeed," Arthur said.

"Do you want to go back to your family, Mim?" Merlin asked.

The girl shook her head. Arthur sighed.

"Mim, I realise you've probably been away from your family for a long time, but we have to bring you to them. They'll have missed you terribly, I'm sure."

Mim shook her head again.

"No. They hate me."

Merlin looked at Arthur.

"We can't send her back to her family, Arthur."

"What are we going to do then?"

"Let her stay."

Mim nodded.

"And who's going to look after her, Merlin? Who's going to make sure she doesn't cause any accidents, or that she hasn't already been turned by Morgana and Morgause?" Merlin stared at him, but Arthur wasn't daunted. "You? You can't spend every waken hour with her."

"Why not?" Merlin challenged.

Arthur suddenly looked dead tired.

"Merlin ..."

"Gaius can look after her," Merlin offered instead.

"Gaius might have been able to look after you when you came to Camelot, but a little child might require a bit more ... energy, don't you think?"

Merlin thought of how worn Gaius had looked since Merlin had been in the dungeons, and knew Arthur was right. He couldn't be asked to look after a child with magic, he'd never done anything like that before.

"I suppose ... I could ask my mother if we could send her to Ealdor. She'll be safe enough there."

Arthur's face brightened for a moment, but then his eyes grew troubled again.

"Morgana knows where Ealdor is," Arthur said.

"Of course she knows, we all went there ..."

He trailed off.

_Morgana knows where my mother lives_. Merlin could feel the blood leaving his face. He imagined he must be white as a sheet. Arthur raised an eyebrow at him as if to say: "Caught up, did you?"

"Merlin," Arthur said, "how you made it through all these years without revealing yourself when you can be so slow sometimes, is beyond me. You should ask your mother to come to Camelot instead."

Merlin shook his head. Hunith hadn't left Ealdor in years.

"She won't like that. And I haven't even had the chance to tell her about all that's happened."

Arthur began walking towards the door. Merlin put Mim down on the floor, grabbed her hand, and followed.

"Then you'll get the chance to tell her face to face," Arthur said. "I'm sure she'll prefer moving to being killed or taken hostage by Morgana. I'll make sure she's well looked after. Just ..."

Arthur turned towards him and made a worried face.

"What?" Merlin asked.

"Just, don't let her kill me, will you?"

Merlin scoffed.

"I'll do my best."

Arthur nodded at Mim.

"What are we going to do with her until Hunith gets here, then?"

"I think Gaius and Emma can muster her for that long, don't you?"

Arthur looked Mim in the eyes.

"You need to do as we say for a while Mim, do you understand that? I don't want you running around in the castle, it's dangerous for you. You'll stay with Emma, she's a nice woman, and you'll do as she says."

Merlin couldn't help but smile at the odd tone Arthur used when talking to her, like he was talking to and adult who was a bit stupid, rather than to a clever child. Mim looked at him.

"Where are you going?" she asked, cutting past everything he'd said to the implication behind it like only a child could.

"I'll be here, but I have a lot of very important things to do, and believe me, even if I could look after you, you wouldn't want me to." He paused, but then he added: "I'll come and see you, alright? And so will Merlin, more often than me."

Merlin startled.

"What do you mean? I'm going to Ealdor!"

Arthur looked up at him.

"You're going yourself?"

"Of course I'm going myself, she's my mother!"

Arthur shook his head, absentmindedly, as if he was shaking it at some thought he'd had.

"I know Merlin, I just don't know if it's a very good time for you to leave Camelot."

"You're the one who keeps saying I need to give people time! Maybe this is the perfect moment to leave Camelot for a couple of days."

Arthur looked pained and Merlin was torn between whether he should say that he'd changed his mind and stay or if he should ask Arthur where that expression had been when he'd threatened to banish him.

"At least take someone with you."

"Don't you think I can protect myself better than any knight can?"

"Can you protect yourself in your sleep, too? Bring Gwaine!"

Merlin was one second away from asking "Don't you trust me?" but the question got stuck on his tongue. If the answer was no, which it might well still be, he really didn't have the strength to hear it at this moment.

"Gwaine's hurt."

"Not that badly," Arthur said. "And he might need a few days away from the hot air as well."

"All right. I'll bring Gwaine. Come on Mim, let's take you to meet Gaius."

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin had only had time to nod to Gaius on the courtyard earlier. Now when he entered the physician's quarters Gaius sat at his table writing, having apparently dispatched Gwaine already, while Emma was stirring a cauldron and studying its contents closely.

"Is it supposed to be this brightly green?" she asked the old man.

Gaius looked over and Emma tipped the cauldron slightly so he could see.

"It's perfect," he said.

"Please tell me that's not what I think it is," Merlin said, and the two physicians turned around to look at him.

"Hello, Emma," he greeted and she smiled at him.

"Hello, Merlin."

"That's what the druids use for their healing plasters, isn't it?" Merlin continued. "You used magic to make that."

"It's allowed now, you know," Gaius said with a knowing little smile.

"Yes, I know," Merlin said, and looked down at Mim who'd been standing silently beside him. "This is Mim. I wondered if you and Emma could look after her for a while. I have to go to Ealdor."

Emma immediately got up and walked over to them, knelt in front of Mim and introduced herself. But Gaius' smile faded.

"You think Morgana might get revenge by hurting Hunith?" he asked.

"I don't have a clue what Morgana might or might not do anymore," Merlin said, "but I'm not taking any chances."

Gaius nodded. Merlin pulled out a chair and sat down across from Gaius. He looked at Emma who was showing Mim the book she was using to make the healing plaster.

"It's strange," he said.

"What is?" Gaius asked.

"Magic being legal."

Gaius raised an eyebrow at him.

"It's what you have always wanted."

Merlin searched for words. He thought of the faces of the knights who had looked at Mim. Of the people he had met on his way here, who had steered away from him, staring at either him or the floor.

"It's going to take some time getting used to, that's all," he said. "What are you writing?"

"A letter," Gaius said and protectively pulled the paper towards himself.

"To?"

"Alice."

Gaius glared at him as if he was daring Merlin to question or tease him. Merlin looked at the old man, studying him. He remembered that day when Gaius had sneaked out like a young boy to go meet Alice. Writing this letter alone seemed to take years of the man's face. Merlin smiled. He hadn't thought about that – about all the refugees that, contrary to Morgana, hadn't burnt their bridges when they left and could now return home to open arms after all those many, many years. There must have been many others like Alice, men and women with brothers, sisters, lovers and children still living in Camelot – families who could finally be reunited.

"I'm happy for you," Merlin said.

"Why," Gaius said warily, "because I still have enough eyesight to write a letter?"

"You're writing to tell her that the law has changed, aren't you? Asking her to come back?"

"Yes, I am. I suppose you think I'm a very silly old man."

"No," Merlin assured him. "Well, a little maybe. But I can understand that kind of silliness."

"Can you indeed? I thought you were too busy waiting on Arthur to pay any attention to girls."

Merlin stared at him.

"What? No, I ..."

He didn't think Gaius had meant it as an accusation, but his immediate reaction was defence. Unbidden, the memory rose of Arthur leaning in to kiss him, of Arthur's hand at the small of his back, of Arthur sitting on Merlin's bed with tears in his eyes, saying: _"Because I love you."_ Merlin felt a blush creeping up his neck, and hurriedly got up from the chair.

"I need to go," he said.

Gaius looked understandably confused, but nodded. Merlin said a quick goodbye to Mim and left.

IYîYîYîYI

The squire who has helped him off with his armour had left, and Arthur had just settled into his chair with paperwork, when someone barged in without knocking. Only two people in Camelot would do this, without the excuse of a dire emergency, and from the footfall Arthur could tell which one this was.

"I thought you'd have left already, Merlin."

He looked up and saw Merlin standing just inside the door (which he had, at least, closed) biting his lip.

"Yes, Merlin?"

Merlin almost turned and fled, and now Arthur was curious. He put the papers down.

"I just thought ... I should say goodbye before I go," Merlin blurted out. "We're heading out before nightfall."

"You'll be coming back," Arthur said, with a sudden sense of déjà vu.

"Yes, of course I will," Merlin said, and seemed at a loss again. "I ... I'm sorry, Arthur."

Arthur frowned.

"For what?"

Merlin looked at him with an air of great earnestness, and said:

"For making your life so difficult."

The explanation perplexed Arthur even more at first, because in all the discussions they'd had earlier Merlin had been reluctant to apologise for anything at all; but then he realised that Merlin wasn't talking about that. Arthur felt a lump in his throat.

"If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be alive at all."

"Yes, but that's not what I meant!" Merlin exclaimed, sounding more annoyed by Arthur's answer than anything else.

"It's true never the less. And relevant, since it really outweighs anything else."

Merlin opened his mouth to say something, but Arthur couldn't let him. He didn't want Merlin's pity.

"Merlin, I'm glad I met you. I always have been, and I always will be glad that I met you, and I wouldn't change it for the world, so please don't apologise for it."

Merlin glanced at the floor, looking distinctly uncomfortable for a moment, and then looked back up with a half-faked smile.

"Does that mean you lied all those times you called me the worst servant ever?"

Arthur scoffed, relieved to leave the touchier subject behind.

"Merlin, have you even met the other servants in Camelot? There's not a servile bone in your body."

Merlin shrugged.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. So ... What am I now, then?"

Arthur tried to follow his line of thought, but failed.

"What do you mean?"

Merlin hesitated.

"I got fired, didn't I? I'm not your manservant anymore."

The words alone brought back that damned lump. Arthur had to school his features into a neutral expression.

"Pity," he said, "because the position is still available."

"Arthur ..." Merlin began.

"There used to be, long ago, a position called Court Sorcerer. But I don't think the court of Camelot is ready for that to be reinstated quite yet." He looked into Merlin's eyes. "Not officially."

Merlin gaped, and then smiled, and something inside Arthur's heart fluttered.

"I think the king's manservant is a pretty good title, actually," Merlin said.

Arthur felt himself smile to.

"I guess it's yours then," he said.

There was a moment of silence that dragged out a second too long. Arthur picked up his papers again and hurried to say:

"That is, once you've gotten your mother here. Go on, I know you want to see her."

Merlin nodded and walked to the door. Just before he disappeared, he turned around and said:

"I'll be back before you'll miss me!"

The door closed.

_Too late._

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur studied the paper in his hands for a long while before he realised he had only read the first five lines and put it down. He closed his eyes and thought of the battle.

He remembered the look on Merlin's face when the sorcerer had raised his hand to kill Morgana and Mordred. He remembered that instant when he had realised that Merlin really _could _do it,_ intended do it, _perhaps even_ wanted _to do it. But Arthur had told him not to, and that had made him stop.

Had it been stupid of him, to let them go? They were sure to make their presence known once again, some way or another. And now Hunith had to leave her home, just because Arthur had taken pity on his sister, a sister who would never take pity on him ever again. But Merlin had stopped him from killing his father, and now Arthur had stopped Merlin from killing his old friend. Hopefully, they both remained better men for it – even if there would hell to pay.

There might be hell to pay for letting Mim stay, too. And what was he going to say to those who asked for his reasons? To those who asked why the king would take a magic user as his ward after all that had happened with Morgana? He could hardly tell them he'd seen her showing loyalty towards him in a dream. Neither could he tell them he was doing it for Merlin's sake. All he could say to defend her continued presence was that she was a child, and he had to hope that that would be enough.

He got up and looked out of the window, searching for a glimpse of Merlin and Gwaine. They were nowhere to be seen. If they had set off at once, they might already be in the woods – the sea of green treetops that stretched on and on towards the hills. But Arthur still remained where he stood, staring at the blue sky until it began to darken.

IYîYîYîYI


	46. Fields of Knowledge and Areas of Doubt

IYîYîYîYI

"_I don't know what's right and what's real anymore  
>And I don't know how I'm meant to feel anymore<br>When do you think it will all become clear  
>Cause I'm being taken over by the fear"<em>

- Lily Allen, _The Fear_

IYîYîYîYI

**Fields of Knowledge and Areas of Doubt**

The moment they got out of Camelot and into the woods, the feelings of confusion and frustration that had been haunting Merlin began to seep away. He closed his eyes and breathed in the smells of the trees and the moss and the earth, and felt relaxed for the first times in days, maybe weeks. The silence and the fresh air were like cool silk to his tired mind. Maybe Gwaine could see that he needed this, because he kept silent for a long while, just riding along by Merlin's side.

After a few hours though, the novelty of the forest was gone, and little by little the blissful calm gave way to troublesome thoughts. The least of them was that Merlin didn't know how to feel about seeing his mother again. He had written to her fairly regularly, but he hadn't seen her in years even though the trip only took a day and a half. Now that he was on his way to her he was beginning to feel a bit guilty about that, wondering how she would react when she saw him.

Apart from thoughts about what lay ahead, the expression on Morgana's face as she had thrown herself over Mordred to protect him also kept coming to Merlin's mind, unbidden. He could feel the anger and fear that had been flowing like fire through his veins as he had raised his hand towards them, and he wondered if he really would have killed them, and if it would have been for the better or for the worse if he had. But there had been something in Arthur's voice when he had called out to stop him, something pleading and desperate that he had never connected with Arthur – at least not up until these last few days – and Merlin had been surprised himself by how he'd just let the two of them go after that.

But there was one thing, something that really shouldn't be that important at all, that occupied Merlin's thoughts more than anything else.

"So Arthur really did beg, did he?" Gwaine asked suddenly.

Merlin almost jumped in his saddle.

"What?"

"For your forgiveness. He must have grovelled really impressively to make you let it all go so quickly."

Not the subject matter Merlin had expected. Still, Merlin almost wondered if Gwaine had been reading his thoughts. The image of Arthur in his room, just hours ago when Merlin had said goodbye, was what had been in his mind for the last mile's travel at least. He'd been going over his own words in his head, trying to think what had gotten into him, what he had meant, what he had hoped to get across.

"Who said I had let it go?" he asked, a bit surlier than he'd intended.

"You. With the way you ran off to say goodbye to him right before we left. With the way you're going off to bring your mother to Camelot instead of leaving Camelot with her."

"I was never going to leave Camelot," Merlin said. "That doesn't mean I've completely forgiven Arthur."

"But you're putting aside what he did to you so that you can ... what? Keep being his servant boy?"

Gwaine didn't sound mean when he said it. He just sounded as someone who was trying really hard to understand something very strange.

"So that I can do what I always have done, protect Arthur and Camelot. We'll just have to see if it will be harder or easier now that it's not a secret anymore."

"But why?" Gwaine insisted.

"Why what?"

"_Why _are you protecting him? What it is you see in him? I mean, I don't deny the man has his good qualities, but he hasn't exactly been letting them shine lately, has he. And yet someone like you just keeps on helping him, saving him, risking your life for him over and over. So you must see something the rest of us don't."

"He's going to be the greatest king this land has ever known," Merlin said. He had asked himself if he still believed it, and the truth was that he did – he could hardly remember ever believing in anything else. "It's his destiny to bring back magic to Camelot, and unite all of Albion. You'll see. It's already begun."

"He changed the law on magic for you because it was the best way to fight Morgana," Gwaine argued.

"Maybe. Or maybe he realised it was wrong."

"So you're ready to cut off your right arm for him because you believe he has some important destiny to fulfil. If it's his destiny, it's his destiny. Why should_ you_ have to work so hard for it?"

Merlin raised his eyebrows.

"Have you any idea how many people try to kill Arthur any given year?"

"And why is it you who should be the one to step in harm's way instead?"

"Because his life is more important than mine."

Gwaine rode up and blocked Merlin's path, forcing both of them to stop. Merlin was surprised by the irritation that was clearly written in Gwaine's face.

"What, in the eyes of the court?" he said. "In that case many people are more important than you, Merlin. Would you die for each and every one of them? Would you take a lashing for them? At the end of the day, would you really?"

Merlin was not interested in having this conversation.

"What is it you want to say, Gwaine? Get it out."

"I've already asked, and you said I was wrong."

"There you are then," Merlin said.

He turned his horse and rode past Gwaine, and hoped that would be that. But Gwaine called out behind him:

"Well, I'm sorry, but if the two of you are not lovers then none of this makes any sense."

"We're friends, Gwaine! You wouldn't know about friendship, because you've never had one before!"

Gwaine went silent. Merlin immediately bit his tongue. He turned around.

"I'm sorry, Gwaine, I just ..."

"Overreacted?" Gwaine suggested.

"Yes. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean ... I think you know what friendship means better than most."

"So why is it such a sensitive subject, then?"

"Because ..." Merlin began. "Never mind, alright."

Gwaine mercifully let it slip.

IYîYîYîYI

They made up camp, and while Gwaine fed the horses Merlin gathered a pile of firewood. When Gwaine came to sit down, he used magic to set it alight. He watched to see how the knight would react, but Gwaine only looked at the fire, seeming slightly impressed but nothing more, and then back up at Merlin.

"So," Gwaine began, "what was it you had to talk to Arthur about just before we left that was so important it couldn't wait?"

Merlin sighed.

"Do we have to talk about Arthur?"

He began looking around him for firewood to add to the little fire, just for something to do.

"Why not?" Gwaine asked. "You rarely talk about anything else."

Merlin felt his cheeks heat up and prayed it was just the fire.

"That's not true."

Gwaine smiled.

"Yes it is. So what did you talk to him about?"

"I ... nothing."

Gwaine nodded.

"Seems likely."

Merlin picked up a pinecone and threw it into the fire.

"I just realised something," he said, "and I wanted to tell him that I knew and that I ... I don't know. I didn't think it through. And then I didn't say what I meant to say anyway. I suppose I _did_ make it sound as if I was forgiving him."

Gwaine looked at him as if he'd been speaking in dragon tongue.

"Merlin, you do realise I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, right?"

Merlin went quiet. He knew he shouldn't be telling anyone about this, not even Gwaine. But he was tired of keeping secrets, and while the need to discuss magic with others had always been easy to ignore since so few would understand anyway, in this field it was definitely Merlin who was out of his depth.

"I think he's in love with me," he admitted.

Gwaine stared at him.

"You can't be serious."

Merlin felt his stomach drop. This had been a mistake, he shouldn't have opened his big mouth ...

Gwaine began to laugh.

"You can't be serious!" He repeated. "You _just now_ realised that Arthur's in love with you?"

It was Merlin's turn to stare.

"What?"

"I'm not saying it didn't take me a long time to figure it out, to notice it in the way he looks at you, the way he talks about you – the way he looks when _I_ talk about you. And I'm not saying that what he did to you didn't make me doubt my conclusions. But I never thought that you didn't know. I thought ... Well, you know what I thought, don't you, I asked you just this morning if the two of you had been lovers."

"I thought you we're trying to be funny!" Merlin protested. "And I said 'absolutely not', so I don't see why you're so surprised that ... that I'm surprised. And what do you mean 'the way he talks about me'? He rarely says a nice word about me out loud."

Gwaine was still chuckling.

"Not to you, maybe. And it doesn't matter _what _he says about you, what's important is that your name is in every second sentence that comes out of his mouth. Just like his is when you talk."

"But that's not ... Arthur always cared about me, I knew that. And I about him, but why would you, or anyone, think that meant ... Why would the thought even cross your mind, that he might be ..."

The words were too strange to be spoken one more time.

"Why not?" Gwaine asked.

Merlin looked at him to try and gauge if he was joking.

"Because I'm a bloke! Because Arthur is too! Men don't fall in love with other men! I mean, I've heard that ... things go on sometimes, but ..."

Gwaine began to laugh again.

"'Things go on'? If that is a reference to what some of the knights get up to on the hayloft above the stables ..."

"I really don't want to know!" Merlin interrupted. "And even if that thought would cross your mind ... Arthur's was in love with Gwen! He_ is_ in love with Gwen. I don't even know ... I don't understand it. Any of it. I mean, what did I do to make him feel like that?"

"I think you were just being yourself, Merlin," Gwaine said with a smile.

"Right," Merlin scoffed.

"I'm serious. If I was that way inclined, I'd probably fancy you myself."

Merlin picked up another pinecone and threw it at Gwaine. It bounced on his shoulder and fell to the ground. Gwaine picked it up and started to toss it from hand to hand. Merlin searched for something to say in this increasingly absurd conversation.

"Well, what about Gwen?"

"What about her?" Gwaine countered. "You don't think a man can be in love with two people?"

Merlin had never really spent much thought on such things at all.

"I always thought being in love was supposed to be this, this power, this pure feeling – an overwhelming experience that wiped all else from your mind. You couldn't feel like that for two people at the same time, surely."

Gwaine shook his head again.

"He wouldn't be a very good king if he went around in that state, would he? Have you never been in love, Merlin?

"I don't know," he admitted. "Not like that, but if you're saying that's not it, then ..."

_Then what is it, and how am I supposed to know if I've felt it?_

Merlin went quiet. Gwaine suddenly looked far more serious than he had before.

"It is for some people," he said. "But it's a lot rarer and a lot more unpleasant than people make it out to be. Of course, loving someone rarely is as pleasant as people want you to believe."

He studied Merlin intently.

"Merlin ... are you sure you're not just as in love with him?"

Merlin froze. _Am I sure of _what_?_

"What do you mean? Of course I am. I mean, I love Arthur. Even now, even after ... But not like that."

"It would explain a lot, you have to admit," Gwaine insisted.

_Would it? What exactly would it explain?_

"It wouldn't explain anything! He's a bloke!"

"Yes, so you said. And I was already aware of that, actually. It didn't stop him from falling for you though, did it?"

Now Merlin knew he was blushing.

"Anyway," he said, "I think I've lost the ability to feel like that, for anyone."

Gwaine shrugged.

"If you say so."

Merlin buried his face in his hands. As he leant forward he was overwhelmed by a wave of tiredness. He could have fallen asleep right there.

"Why does everything have to be so complicated?"

"That's the way life is," Gwaine said. "Especially when love's involved."

Something inside the fire crackled loudly.

"Have you ever been in love?" Merlin asked.

Gwaine actually squirmed.

"Okay, I get it, it's time to change the subject, is it?"

"Have you?" Merlin pressed on.

Gwaine looked into the fire.

"It was a long time ago, Merlin, and far away from here."

"Who was she?" Merlin asked.

And then the implications of what they had been talking about this far suddenly hit him.

"I mean, who was it?" he corrected himself, and felt as if the world veered slightly off course for a second.

Gwaine smiled.

"She worked at the tavern in my village. The reason I began to drink, you could say. People noticed. My father noticed. They all said it wasn't proper. Said I just fancied her a bit because she was pretty and I'd get over it. But it wasn't like that. I worshipped her."

The lines _"They don't worship me, you just think so because you do,"_ _"I don't worship you,"_ and _"Your protest came a bit too late, Merlin," _echoed in Merlin's head, and the blush that had just begun to die down flared up again. Thankfully Gwaine didn't seem to notice.

"So it was the head-over-heels kind of love?" he said.

"Rather than the slow burner? No. It was the worst kind of all. It was both. You know, Merlin, I suddenly get why you didn't want to talk about this. It's depressing. Let's go to sleep."

Gwaine tossed the pinecone into the fire, got up and grabbed his sleeping mat. Merlin looked at him and remembered his initial doubts about having this discussion.

"Gwaine ... you can't tell anyone about Arthur and me. I mean, what I told you about Arthur."

Gwaine looked up at him.

"Merlin, you're the best friend I have. And as long as Arthur doesn't hurt you, he's my friend as well. I won't tell a soul."

"Because it wouldn't look very good," Merlin clarified, reaching for his own mat. "For either of us. Especially right now."

Gwaine pulled a blanket over himself.

"I get it, Merlin. Your secret's safe with me."

Merlin closed his eyes. As comforting as those words were, he had hoped Gwaine might offer some kind of explanation, tell him that he was wrong about Arthur's feelings, that Arthur would get over this, that it was just some strange kind of misdirected attraction, like Merlin had thought that night in Arthur's room. That things would go back to normal.

Merlin was finding that that was what he wanted, more than anything: for things to go back to the way they were. But of course, that was the one thing he could never have.

_Morgause is dead, Morgana knows what I am, _everyone _knows what I am, magic is legal, there are people inside the court trying to question Arthur's rule, and I'm about to bring my mother to Camelot._

_And Arthur hurt me._

_And Arthur's scared of me._

_And Arthur's in love with me._

And instead of helping, Gwaine had made it worse by suggesting that he should have seen this coming a long time ago. By suggesting that from the outside, it looked mutual.

As the fire faded between them, Gwaine whispered through the dark:

"I have to say though ... he really doesn't deserve you."

IYîYîYîYI


	47. We Never Forget the Way Home

A/N: _I don't really know what to say here. Something in between a thousand word apology and a joking "Oh Ye of little faith," probably. Your concern and your devotion to this story are deeply touching for me. I'm a bit daunted, really – I would like to warn you that there is no way the ending is going to live up to all these expectations you are building up. There will, however, _be _an ending, I still promise you that. Sorry for this being mostly a filler episode, really._

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_Mother, give me back my old room,  
>I won't make a mess like I used to, won't play my records<br>loud at nights, I'll keep it quiet.  
>Mother, let me have my old bed back and lay out clothes for me.<em>

_People give me work and money, they depend on me now.  
>If they only knew how thin the ice they walk on is,<br>if they only knew how thin the ice they walk on is."_

- Hello Saferide, _Parenting never ends_

IYîYîYîYI

**We Never Forget the Way Home**

When morning came, Merlin and Gwaine picked up their sleeping mats and continued towards Ealdor. They were less than half a day's journey away now.

"How long has it been since you saw your mother?" Gwaine asked as he untied the horses.

"Years," Merlin confessed.

"It's not that far. Why haven't you gone to visit her?"

"Like you visit your mother?" Merlin asked and pulled himself up onto the horse.

Gwaine laughed.

"The last time I saw my mother she was throwing me out of the house for my wicked ways. From what I gather you and your mother are on somewhat friendlier terms."

They rode under green leaves, birdsong coming from above, and again Merlin marvelled at the calm of the world outside Camelot. Come to think of it, why hadn't he visited his mother?

"I guess ... there have been times when I wanted to," he said. "But it's just been ... busy. Looking after Arthur, and all of you, trying to keep you out of trouble, it's a full time job, believe me. The few times I left Camelot on my own, even for a day, I always felt guilty and worried every second until I got back. So eventually, I just stopped. I write letters to her," he explained, "all the time. I just ..."

"Felt that Arthur was more important?" Gwaine filled in.

"Yes."

It was so obvious, really. Merlin should probably be a bit embarrassed that he had felt that way, that such a large part of him still did, but when he searched himself he knew he wasn't. And he knew his mother had understood.

Gwaine shook his head and smiled.

"And you wonder why I thought you and he were ..." he began.

Merlin cut him off.

"Can we just not talk about that, please?"

He felt a bit of his good mood drift away. Of course Gwaine had to go and see Merlin's words as proof of his own theories.

"Fine!" Gwaine laughed. "I'm just trying to understand the two of you."

"There's nothing to understand. He's my best friend. We've fallen out, he was really angry at me, I am really angry at him, but it will get better again. There."

Gwaine was quiet for a moment. Then he answered, in an indecipherable tone:

"And you have never been head over heels in love with anyone. I wonder why that is."

IYîYîYîYI

Two minutes earlier, Merlin would have been hard-pressed to tell anyone where Old Man Simmons' barn stood. The moment Merlin rode into Ealdor, however, every single memory he had of the place came flooding back to him as if he'd only just left. Camelot suddenly felt very far away.

The villagers who saw him and Gwaine stopped and stared, though Merlin was relieved that they seemed far more pleasantly surprised than the staring people in Camelot had. Beside him, Gwaine jumped down from his horse and smiled at one of the village girls. Merlin was just about to open his mouth and ask for his mother when she rounded the corner of a house and stood face to face with him.

This was the one reaction that really mattered: the surprise and disbelief in his mother's face, which was quickly swept away and replaced by joy and love.

Merlin threw himself off the horse and into her arms without a word. He didn't know how long she'd held him before she spoke up:

"Merlin – is something wrong?"

He straightened up.

"No. Well, something is, that's why I came without writing first, I'm sorry."

She took his face in her hands.

"Don't apologise. It's so good to see you," she said.

"And you."

Merlin shook himself and remembered his manners.

"Mother, this is Sir Gwaine. Gwaine, this is my mother, Hunith."

Gwaine smiled his most good-natured smile and reached out a hand.

"It's an honour to meet you."

"Likewise," Hunith said. "Merlin has written about you."

Gwaine shot Merlin a glance.

"I'd say 'nothing bad I hope,' but, knowing myself ..."

They all smiled at that.

"Maybe something," Hunith said, "but mostly good."

"Well, that must be mostly lies."

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin explained the battle with Morgana, in as few words as possible – he didn't want his mother to get alarmed about something that already happened, anyway – and he explained, to Hunith's joy and disbelief, that the law had been changed. He didn't mention what had happened before that. Gwaine gave him a look, he saw that, but it was his choice – he wouldn't turn his mother against Arthur. Not now. Finally, he told her about Mim.

There was no question about whether or not Hunith was coming with them. The danger of remaining was as clear as the advantages of going. Still, the way she looked around her little cottage made Merlin suggest that they shouldn't leave until next morning. Gwaine agreed. She smiled thankfully at them.

The rest of the day Hunith spent saying goodbye to Ealdor. Of her few possessions she packed the ones she would bring to Camelot and gave the rest away to other villagers. For a while, Merlin and Gwaine were left alone in the cottage.

"So," Gwaine said, "when are you planning to tell her what really happened?"

Merlin felt the guilt this time.

"I didn't lie!" he replied.

He heard how irritable he sounded and bit his tongue.

"You weren't exactly honest with her either," Gwaine pointed out.

In the empty cottage, which hadn't contained much to begin with and contained even less now, he had somehow found something which looked like a wooden jug and which Merlin was sure he had never seen in his life, which he was now tossing from hand to hand. Merlin wondered if this was a habit Gwaine had always had, juggling random items while talking.

"I really don't think now would be a good time to tell her about it," Merlin said.

He tried to look away, but Gwaine seemed to catch his gaze anyway.

"Merlin, has it ever occurred to you that keeping secrets in wait of that perfect moment when everyone will be okay with it might not be a very good strategy?"

_That's not really fair. Or maybe it is, but not in this situation._

"I'll tell her Gwaine, alright? Just, let it come from me."

Gwaine smiled.

"I wasn't planning on telling on you to your mother, Merlin. I just wondered ..."

"What?"

"It seems lying has become an impulse with you. You don't have to lie to her, she's your mother."

"I don't want her to barge into Camelot and try to kill Arthur. And she _would_ try."

Gwaine seemed to find that very amusing.

"I don't doubt it," he said. "I just wanted to see if that would be your reasoning again."

"_What?_"

Merlin loved Gwaine, he really did, but he was getting tired of conversations he couldn't keep up with.

"Protecting Arthur," Gwaine said.

Suddenly the knight looked a lot more troubled, as if a shadow had descended over his face.

"That worries you, doesn't it?" Merlin said. "That I would protect Arthur? Why?"

"Well, if you're sure you're not in love with him, I have to ask myself if you're doing it because you're scared of him."

Merlin gaped. Then he laughed. Gwaine frowned at him.

"At least I'm not the only one who's slow," Merlin said.

"No?"

Gwaine didn't seem to get it.

"Gwaine, are you mad? I'm not scared of Arthur, and I never have been."'

_Except when he kissed me. Except when he wrapped his arms around me and begged me to stay. Then I was scared. Scared of something._

Gwaine pointed at him with the jug.

"Not even when you stood on the courtyard about to get lashed?" he asked.

Merlin felt like cringing at the words.

"I felt a lot of things right then, but not fear. Maybe I was afraid of the pain, and of what would happen if they tried to throw me out of Camelot, but not of Arthur."

"He was the reason you were up there," Gwaine insisted.

"Was he?" Merlin countered.

Maybe now Gwaine would understand.

But no. Gwaine only frowned even deeper.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he said.

"It means I could easily have walked away from there, straight into the great hall, and crowned myself king if that was the way I wanted it, and no one in Camelot would have been able to stop me! It means I could easily have defeated Arthur the first day I met him, and I've just kept getting stronger since then! If I ever decided to fight Arthur, it would be over before he could blink. So yes, he can make me angry, and sad, and desolate, and frustrated, and disappointed, but he can never, ever make me scared."

Gwaine stared at him. Then slowly, he began to smile.

"I think I should make sure never to make you angry," he said.

"Yes, you probably should," Merlin agreed.

They began to laugh simultaneously.

"I still think you're some kind of idiot though," Gwaine said.

Merlin smiled.

"You're probably right."

Gwaine looked down on the jug.

"I suppose I can't really understand that," he said. "Not being scared of Arthur. Because I am."

Merlin was stunned.

"Why?"

"I could say it's because he's one of very few people who can defeat me in a fight – if he has a good day – but more than that, it's because I can't figure him out. And because, since I came to Camelot, he has brought out all these noble sides of me that I really didn't believe I had, and never wanted to have. Not before. And now he can even disappoint me, Merlin. I never believed strongly enough in anything to get disappointed, before I met you two."

Merlin didn't know what to say.

"Don't tell him I said that," Gwaine added.

They both remained silent until Hunith came back.

IYîYîYîYI

Hunith invited all their friends over for dinner that evening, and Merlin could see tears in the eyes of several people. Hunith had always been a source of support and strength in the village. Laughs, jokes, memories and stories were shared during the evening. There were stories of the time when Hunith had helped with this, or the time when Hunith had fixed that, of the time when Merlin had almost levelled Old Man Simmons and of the time when Merlin had brought Prince Arthur Pendragon (to help protect their little village against Kanan. (And he the King now, wasn't he? Imagine that, a king having been in little Ealdor, and he had shook hand with all of them, too – Gwaine had smiled and looked at Merlin when that story had been shared. _Good old times._)

Before they left, many of the guests stopped to tell Merlin to look after his mother, or to jokingly berate him from stealing her away from them.

When it was time to sleep, the tree of them lay on the cottage floor, only yards away from each other but invisible in the dark.

"I never thought I'd leave this village," Hunith whispered.

"Neither did I," Merlin admitted.

"What if I can't help her, Merlin? She's not my child; I'm just a stranger to her."

Merlin was about to reply when Gwaine interrupted.

"Don't sell yourself short, Hunith. I'm sure raising Merlin must have qualified you for any sort of disaster in the world."

Hunith let out a surprised little laugh.

"Watch it Gwaine," Merlin said, "you're beginning to sound like Arthur."

"Ouch."

"Raising Merlin was easy," Hunith said. "It was the fear of what would happen if anyone found out about him that made it hard."

"Well, it's happened now," Gwaine said.

Merlin held his breath, half expecting Gwaine to tell the whole story anyway, but true to his word the knight stayed quiet. Merlin felt his mother's hand carefully wrap around his own.

"And I'm so glad it went well. I always knew you could make people see sense. Your father would be proud of you."

Merlin found himself tearing up suddenly at the thought of Balinor. He had been driven out of Camelot by Uther, hunted even beyond the kingdom's borders. Now his family was returning to a Camelot where magic was legal. No matter if there were still people who frowned upon it, or people who were scared: Kay would never again be told to execute someone just because they had magic. No one would be driven away from their home or forced to leave their children on account of their magic ever again. Never, ever again.

IYîYîYîYI


	48. The Humble Beginnings of a New Age

IYîYîYîYI

"_We pity you lost leftovers  
>We look down on those who can't stay true<br>We are safe, but we can't stop wondering  
>If this is it, then who's fooling who?<em>

_And nothing really scares us no longer  
>We've tried the nastiest words we could find<br>They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger  
>But should it be about how to survive?"<em>

- Sahara Hotnights,_ Visit to Vienna_

IYîYîYîYI

**The Humble Beginnings of a New Age**

The days went by quickly after their return to Camelot. It would have been a shame to say they went by in silence, because there was plenty to do: everyone else had their old familiar set of duties, and Merlin found he had gotten a bunch of new ones. Mostly these had to do with magic. There were lists of people who had fled Camelot during the purge – were they going to try and find them, or should they let those who still had people waiting for them in Camelot find out through them and not care about the rest? There would still be people using magic for evil purposes (and Merlin knew that better than anyone) – what would they do with them now? The answer was simple at first: if someone uses magic to steal, punish them the same way as someone who uses a crowbar. If someone uses magic to kill, punish them the same way as someone who uses a knife. But it became more complicated once it had to be implemented for the first time: how did you throw a magic user in the dungeons – and, more to the point, how did you keep them there? Merlin met one of the dungeon guards one day, and to his amusement the man actually shook his hand and thanked Merlin for never having attempted to break out of the dungeons. Merlin considered telling him how often people had been magically helped out of the dungeons before the law changed, but decided that it would probably be better for the other man's peace of mind if he kept quiet.

IYîYîYîYI

Hunith settled in with Mim in two small rooms in the same end of the castle as Gaius' quarters. That is, Merlin thought they were small, which said something about how long he had lived in the castle. To Hunith, they clearly seemed huge. Gwen had been the one to show her to them when she came, and the Queen had had a smile on her face that Merlin realised he had not seen for some time. It might have been years since they last met, but the two women got along as if it had been yesterday.

Mim also got along with Hunith, even if it was not quite as instantaneous as for Gwen. She was terribly guarded at first, and ran away from Hunith straight into Merlin's arms as soon as he visited, but within a couple of weeks the two of them seemed to be slowly forming a bond. It was a strange feeling for Merlin to watch his mother take care of Mim. In Ealdor it had always been just the two of them, and now it was as if he had suddenly acquired a little sister who was stealing all of his mother's attention, even when he was in the room. Hunith quickly noticed his discomfort and teased him for it.

On the other hand, it was a great relief that Mim liked being with Hunith, since Merlin had to urge his mother to keep the girl inside as much as possible. The law might have been changed, but there were plenty of people who he was afraid would try to hurt or kill Mim the first chance they got – for her magic, or because she had been a part of Morgana's little group, or most likely both.

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur came to visit Mim like he had promised – Merlin knew as much because Hunith told him, with surprise in her voice. She said he had been more polite and subdued than she remembered him.

"But of course, I've only met him when he was preparing for battle," she said.

Merlin wondered if being around Hunith made Arthur feel guilty. Maybe he wasn't sure whether or not she knew what he had put her son through; he hadn't asked Merlin if he had told her, and Merlin hadn't mentioned it. Sometimes, thought surprisingly seldom, Arthur and Merlin both visited Mim at the same time. It was always by coincidence, never by design. It surprised Merlin how fond Mim seemed of Arthur. She might feel safe around Merlin, and with Gaius, Emma and Hunith now, but it was clear that Arthur was the favourite. It struck him as deeply ironic – the little girl with magic who would have been killed or locked up behind bars just a little while ago, showing off newly learned tricks to the man who would have been her judge.

Merlin himself still felt deeply self-conscious about using magic in front of others. Even teaching Mim tricks when Emma was around felt strange and forbidden, and of course it was ten times worse those times when Arthur happened to be there. He could feel Arthur's eyes on him every time he did a spell or incantation and asked Mim to repeat it. He always expected Arthur to get up and leave, but he never did – he just sat there and watched in silence. When Merlin had questioned him, he only said that he didn't want to disturb a teacher and his student, leaving Merlin no real reason to argue. Once the unease had been too strong and Merlin had felt forced to leave himself, instead. He had flown up and pretended that he had forgotten something important that he had to do – he couldn't remember exactly what excuse he had used – and while Hunith had given him a quizzical look, Arthur had pretended not to notice that he was acting strange. Merlin had walked straight back to his room, inwardly berating himself for being silly. How many times had he cast spells just out of Arthur's sight, risking discovery, without even blinking? Why was he cringing under Arthur's gaze now?

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin shouldn't have been surprised at how good he and Arthur were at pretending like nothing had happened. It had always been one of their best talents: whenever they got too close to each other, or too far away from each other, or in this case both, that same old wall of jokes and banter and everyday routines went up until the awkwardness went away. But it had never been as obvious as now that they were only pretending, and that this awkwardness was going to need more than the usual treatment for them to get past it, if they would get past it at all. There was a nervous edge to the banter and every word seemed chosen with a sense of cautiousness that had never been there before.

They could talk about politics and strategy without trouble. It was safe territory, something that they both were and were supposed to treat objectively. Even if it became obvious that Merlin's role had changed, they could still steer around any more uncomfortable topics by focusing at the problems at hand.

Gwen's maidservant had disappeared. There hadn't been as much as a note since the battle with Morgana. Arthur mentioned it to Merlin one morning.

"I can't say I'll miss her. Do you think ...?"

"That she was working for Morgana?" Arthur filled in. "It would too much of a coincidence if she wasn't, wouldn't it?"

Merlin agreed.

"I was thinking, maybe it was _her_. Or Morgause, since she didn't even return to cover her tracks."

Arthur looked up.

"Could they have done that? Turned themselves into a completely different person?"

He didn't sound as surprised as the question indicated.

"Turned into another person or just made everyone see a different person, take your pick. But I'd like to think I would see through the latter."

Arthur nodded.

"And I'd like to think I would recognise my own sister, in any form of disguise."

Merlin remembered the door that had mysteriously locked itself the day Morgana had revealed his secret.

"It was probably Morgause," he said. "I'm pretty sure they were both in the same room when ... when Morgana was here."

Arthur looked away.

"She was here to set you up, wasn't she?" he said, looking down at the documents on his table. "And I acted exactly as she was expecting me too."

"I don't know. I think she was hoping I would be executed, or at least forced to run away. She made it pretty clear that she doesn't make a difference between you and Uther anymore."

"She was almost right," Arthur said.

"Yes. Almost."

IYîYîYîYI

It was in this situation and situations like it, when the conversation occasionally veered towards more private matters, that the change became obvious. Merlin would mostly just turn quiet when he was no longer sure of what to say. Arthur would fidget and look uncomfortable; he would look away, stumble over his words, and there'd be a tone of insecurity in his voice. In front of everyone else Arthur exuded power, confidence and control as much as he ever had if not more, but when he was alone with Merlin, sometimes he would act almost diffident. Maybe Merlin ought to be grateful or flattered, but instead it grated on his nerves to see Arthur behave so uncharacteristically, constantly reminding both of them that things weren't as they should be.

Eventually, Merlin called him out on it. A late knights' practice was over, and everyone had left the field except Arthur and him. The sky was turning a dark shade blue and the moon was already clearly visible, but it was still warm. They had been talking about the knights, Merlin had mentioned something about when he had been with Gwaine and Lancelot in the dungeons, and Arthur had turned quiet and unapproachable.

"Why are you acting like this?" Merlin said, a bit louder that he had intended.

"Pardon?"

It annoyed Merlin that Arthur looked genuinely confused.

"Why are you being so apologetic and overcautious every time we begin to talk about something that isn't entirely political or practical? You can't be like this forever! If you are, I think I might actually go insane. And it really doesn't become you, you know."

Arthur stared at him, looking like a burglar who had just been berated for not using the key instead of for the theft.

"I guess ... I'm still trying to figure out where we stand," he said.

_So am I, idiot, _Merlin thought. Out loud he said:

"Well, it's unnerving! You've never been like this over anything!"

"I've never _felt_ like this over anything!" Arthur replied. "But when it comes to you, Merlin, I am out of my depth! Now more than ever."

Merlin's mouth went dry. Neither of them seemed to know how to continue that conversation, so once again it was dropped.

_Out of my depth_. That was how Merlin felt, too – like he was in the middle of a deep lake, tramping water, trying to decide which shore to swim for. They all looked familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

IYîYîYîYI

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><p><span>AN: _Jösses, vad svenska läsare det hörde av sig helt plötsligt!__ Härligt att se er! Och härligt med lite svenska på reviewsidan så de andra får något att fundera på. :P_

* * *

><p><strong><em>* SPOILER WARNING for series 4! NB!*<em>**

_So, this is really late now after my too-long hiatus, but I really want to say it:_

_Merlin's mind-control-spell! Oh. My. God. Yes, true, I thought it was actually rather in character (Merlin does love to humiliate Arthur sometimes, especially when he can save his prattish arse in the process) but I really didn't think the BBC writers would go there. Removing free will! It's as if they didn't understand how DARK that is, using it to provide slapstick humour and not even adressing the moral ambiguity of it! *sigh* _

_That said, that spell in combination with the killing of Agravaine sure seemed to herald more bad-ass Merlin in series 5. I guess we'll have to wait and see._

_And I have to add, no matter how much I go on a rant sometimes: I love this show. I love, love, love it._


	49. The Noblest Knight in the World

A/N: _So, writing this I thought: "No, I don't have to go back and read the Lancelot-parts I've already written to get the tone right! I should be able to do that anyway!" And then I realised that I wrote the first of those chapters in May last year ... and I went back and re-read them. There are a lot of you who deserve a lot of kudos for your patience with this story and me._

_Also, when you begin to look for Lancelot-stuff, you realise how very few episodes he's actually in, even counting series 4. Guess he really makes an impression, huh?_

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

**Previously:**

_"My Lord," said Lancelot, slowly and steadily,  
>"It is true that I love Guinevere. But sire,<br>I would rather tear my own heart out of my chest  
>than to ever betray you or Camelot."<em>

- _All the King's Horses and All the King's Men_, Chapter 7

IYîYîYîYI

"_He was always there to help her  
>She always belonged to someone else"<em>

- Maroon 5, _She Will Be Loved_

IYîYîYîYI

**The Noblest Knight in the World**

Knights' practice had become a different thing after Lancelot and Gwaine's night in the dungeons. Neither the victory over Morgana nor the several weeks that had followed had been able to completely remove the awkward tension between different groups of knights; groups that Lancelot had not even known existed before this summer. Gwaine just shook his head and smiled when whispered words were heard or suspicious glances received, but Lancelot could not shake the feeling that it was wrong, that it was beneath the knights of Camelot to behave like this. This was not what they were supposed to be.

Sir Hector, and the other older knights that had joined or rejoined the Knights of Camelot after Morgana's short time on the throne had decimated their ranks, usually stood by during the practices, or joined them only for a short time in the beginning. It made an interesting contrast to the handful of men who were of a similar age, but who had joined the knights when they were young and then never left, like Sir Bernard or Pellinore the Elder: they never missed a practice and they could still match or even defeat the younger men, by skill if not by strength and speed.

Neither Lancelot nor Gwaine came from Camelot, and so they could not remember the time when Sir Hector had been a young knight; and now, since they had both made it clear were their loyalties lay, neither of them was ever approached by the man. Still, they did not need to know his history or be in his circle to realise that he was influential – it was plain for anyone to see. The way Leon put it was that Hector had made a lot of friends during his first stay in Camelot, and a lot of allies during this his second one.

Sir Hector had always had money, and that drew in its fair share of people. Some claimed – with excitement in their hushed voices – that he was richer than the king himself. He also came from a family of nobles that had been influential in Camelot since long before the Pendragons had arrived. Hector and his father had helped putting Uther on the throne, and they had been as ruthless as him during the Great Purge. Elyan had claimed that he remembered sneaking out to watch an execution when he was just a child and seeing Sir Hector standing at the front of the crowd, flames reflecting on his face, with his arms crossed and a smile on his face. It was a child's memory and Lancelot didn't want to make anything of it, but when he saw Hector holding court beside the practice field, when he knew from others what he was saying – that they needed to be careful, that they needed to look out for Arthur (as if Arthur had become incapable of looking out for himself), that these new laws allowing magic could not remain for long – then he couldn't help but think of Merlin on that pyre, or Arthur, dethroned and declared an enemy of Camelot.

He had asked Leon, once, if it wouldn't be wisest to just send Sir Hector back to his family and his estate, to simply say that the older knights were no longer needed in Camelot. Leon had looked across the field at Hector, busy talking to Sir Bernard, and said that it was either too early or too late. He said that too many of the knights were worried by all this sudden change, by Merlin, by the King's behaviour, by a quarter of a century old law changing over night, by Morgana showing up again and getting away alive. The number of Hector's supporters needed to go down before Arthur could send him away against his will without risking that Hector would use it as his moment to start a coup.

None of this made Lancelot feel any better, and he could tell just by the line of Leon's shoulders that the other man was a lot more frustrated by the situation than he was letting on. One battle had ended, but it felt as if they were already on the verge of another.

IYîYîYîYI

It had seemed, for a while, as if the oppressing heat that had haunted Camelot had ceased after the thunderstorm that had raged during their battle against Morgana and Morgause, but it hadn't taken long for it to return. It seemed it had returned to stay, too, because it had been a whole month and by this time the chill of autumn had usually begun to fall, at least in the evenings. Instead, sunset only offered a slight relief. Practicing in full chainmail had become more arduous than ever, so while Gwaine was practicing his swordsmanship against Elyan, a line of other knights stood by the railing, watching. Lancelot, Percival and Leon stood there, silently following the movements of the battling knights. Leon had suggested that Gwaine had a weak point in a certain move that was obvious once you had spotted it (something that was hard to believe as the only ones who had ever been able to defeat the man were Lancelot and King Arthur himself, and even they had only done so with great difficulty) and now the other two were trying to see it as well. A bit further down, Sir Mador, one of the younger knights that tended to gather around Hector, was talking loudly to a small group of knights.

"... and say what you want," Lancelot heard him say, "I wouldn't trust that sorcerer further than I could throw him. He's cast some kind of spell on the king, that's what I say. And it's what Sir Hector believes, too."

Lancelot saw Leon turn to look at the group and then down on his hands. Were they really supposed to stand for this? Were they not making it worse by letting conversations like this go on uninterrupted? He began to walk over to the knights who were now interrupting each other with examples of signs of how the King was not in his right mind, or why sorcerers could not be trusted. The sound of footsteps behind him told Lancelot that Leon and Percival were hurrying after him.

Another knight was saying "... I've even heard he calls the King by his first name. Tell me, what king would allow that if he wasn't ..." but silenced when his friends turned to look at Lancelot who had walked into their little circle.

"What exactly is it you think you are doing?" Lancelot asked.

Two of the young knights stared at him and seemed suddenly to have lost the gift of speech. Sir Mador and the other three, however, looked more disbelieving than awed. Mador took a step forward. He was a thin, dark haired knight, curiously – and considering the topic of discussion, ironically – similar to Merlin, but with a distinctly different kind of glint in the blue eyes.

"We were discussing the current situation in the court," Mador replied.

"And you find it proper to criticise the King in public?"

One of the knights standing beside Sir Mador – Lancelot realised he did not even know his name – scoffed.

"We're not talking ill of the King, Sir Peasant; we're simply questioning the influence of his manservant."

"I have heard the way you talk, Sir Knight. You are questioning the decisions of the King by insinuating that his mind is not his own. You resort to gossip and speculation instead of showing your honour and loyalty at a time when the King needs it."

Sir Mador smiled.

"And who are you, Sir Lancelot, about honour, and loyalty to the King? We all know what your brand of loyalty looks like."

"Watch your tongue, Mador," Leon suddenly cut in.

It was a tone Lancelot seldom heard him use – the underlying threat almost creating a chill in the air.

"Why?" Mador pressed on, looking at Leon now. "Should we all close our eyes? Turn in the other direction and pretend like nothing? It is no secret that Sir Lancelot here is making a fool out of the King better than any of us could."

Lancelot's hand went to his sword without any conscious thought.

"I would never do anything to hurt the King. Anyone who claims different is a liar."

Mador turned back to him.

"Half of Camelot knows the Queen has been to your bed. Did you not believe that would hurt the King? Perhaps you follow a different Knights' Code than the rest of us."

Lancelot felt as if someone had poured ice down his throat.

"That's high treason, to talk about the Queen like that," Percival pointed out.

"Only if it's a lie," Mador replied.

"It is a lie."

Lancelot was surprised and a bit disappointed at how easily the words slipped past his lips – after all, in the literal sense Mador's words were completely true.

_But they are not talking about the literal meaning, so why should I?_

Gwaine and Elyan were coming over from the training field, and out of the corner of his eye Lancelot could see the troubled look on Gwaine's face.

"Like it is a lie that the sorcerer is influencing the King?" Mador asked. "If the King was in his right mind, you and the Queen would both have been burnt at the stake by now."

Lancelot did not have his gauntlets, so he reached out and pulled one from Gwaine's hand.

"Hang on!" Gwaine exclaimed.

"It is a lie," Lancelot repeated and threw the gauntlet on the ground in front of Mador.

"You have insulted not just me but both the King and the Queen. I challenge you to defend yourself."

The people around them turned so quiet it was as if they had vanished. If Lancelot had been a lesser man – or if he had been Gwaine – he might have taken pleasure in the way Sir Mador's face turned grey as ash. No one said a word as the two of them walked out onto the field, Mador a bit slower than Lancelot.

There were only a handful of knights who could hold their own against Lancelot. That was not boasting on Lancelot's part – it was simply an assessment of his colleagues, confirmed by several years' worth of evidence. But even so, the speed with which Sir Mador was defeated was exceptional and did nothing to put the man in a better light. The duel had barely begun before he lay on his back on the dry, dusty ground, swordless, with his hands raised. It was not until he saw Mador's blue eyes staring up at him that Lancelot even thought about the fact that, according to the Knights' Code, he was within his rights to, or maybe even expected to, kill the other man.

Lancelot sheathed his sword and reached out his hand. Mador hesitated for a moment before he grabbed it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. As soon as he stood steadily, Lancelot turned around and left him there.

At the other end of the field, he saw both Gwaine and Leon shaking their heads. The former probably because Lancelot had spared Mador. The latter – Lancelot recalled Leon's worries. Had Lancelot just silenced the enemy – or had he given them a new weapon?

IYîYîYîYI

* * *

><p><span>AN: _In the version of Arthurian legend that I've read (boy are there many), Sir Mador is a knight who accuses Queen Guinevere of having poisoned another knight to death. Lancelot is called to fight in defence of the Queen's honour. (Because, one supposes, the King is not allowed to risk his life? Dunno.)_


	50. The Difficulty of Making up One's Mind

IYîYîYîYI

"_Who told you love is the alpha and omega?  
>And that your heart will lead you to the only one?<br>It's a curse, it's the hammer that will break ya'  
>It's the poison hidden in the bonbon"<em>

- A Camp,_ Stronger than Jesus_

IYîYîYîYI

**The Difficulty of Making up One's Mind**

Arthur could not say he was surprised when Leon told him of Lancelot's duel with Sir Mador. If anything he was surprised the gossip had not come to the surface earlier, considering those two nights when Guinevere had not slept in their room. Not even Guinevere could cross the whole castle unnoticed by the army of servants several times in a row like that – Arthur had expected the whole situation to come to a turning point right there and then, but had been too busy thinking about Merlin and Morgana to worry very much about it. But now it seemed it was a problem that could not be avoided any longer.

He knew what the best choice would be: to call Lancelot up here right now and ask him to take Guinevere with him and leave Camelot forever. It would never come to a trial; there would never be a sentence. The suspected culprits would simply disappear. Yet he could not bring himself to do it.

It might not hurt as much as it used to, the knowledge that Guinevere would always love Lancelot – he had, after all, had years to grow accustomed to that idea – but that was only one part of it. The idea of spending the rest of his life without her was another thing entirely. He had not always expected that it would come this. Before these hot summer months his future had seemed so clear to him, and it had been a future spent with Guinevere by his side. It seemed he had managed to salvage the remains of his friendship with Merlin, so that Merlin would at least stay with him, and that was good. That was, he had realised, what mattered most. But every time he looked at Merlin he realised how much he had lost – not just the way their friendship used to be, more carefree and open than this, but all the things it could have become. There were still times when he looked at Merlin and wondered if he knew him at all. Now he did not have a clue how it would develop, if things would get better between them, or if this was it now. To add to that the loss of not only Guinevere, but also Lancelot who had been his best friend next to Merlin – what kind of life would that give him? It spread out before him like an empty wasteland. That wasteland was something he wanted to avoid as long as possible. But how was he to tell how long it _could_ be avoided without risking that he would wait too long?

IYîYîYîYI

The next day, Merlin walked into Arthur's room with the King's midday meal. He heard Arthur's voice before he saw him.

"That's not your job anymore, Merlin."

He looked up and saw Arthur standing by the window, looking out, with his back to Merlin.

"How did you know it was me?"

Arthur did not turn around.

"Because, Merlin, after all these years, you are still the only one who doesn't knock."

"It could have been Gwen."

"Guinevere just left."

There was something in Arthur's voice that Merlin chose not to think about for the moment.

"Well," he carried on, aware that he was rambling, "truth is, I saw that boy 'Wart' carrying up your tray, and I swear he dropped it three times just walking up the stairs, so I thought I'd take it while it was still recognisable as food. And you've always called _me _an incompetent servant ..."

He trailed off. Arthur was still turned towards the window, his face in a deep frown, and he didn't seem to have heard a word Merlin had said.

"Alright," Merlin said and put the tray down. "What is it now?"

He wanted to ask "_Is this about you and me?"_ but that felt too strange. Instead he asked:

"Are you still worrying about Morgana? Because she's not coming back in a hurry, I promise. If she does, she'll want a brand new plan and it will have to include a way to get through me. And I think we can find a way to deal with Hector ..."

"It's not that," Arthur interrupted.

He turned around and looked at Merlin.

"I still have to figure out what to do about Guinevere and Lancelot."

Merlin opened his mouth, but Arthur put his hand up before he had time to speak.

"And don't tell me that I don't have to do anything about it, because I remember the first time Leon warned me about this, and you agreed with him. And you and I both know she has loved him as long as she has loved me, if not longer."

Arthur walked over to the table a picked up a piece of bread and began to eat with an unusual lack of enthusiasm.

It was true that Merlin had known where Gwen's heart belonged, but he had wanted to ignore the problem as much as Arthur had. In the end, it seemed someone would have to leave, and Merlin loved them all too much not to have hoped that some other, miraculous solution would somehow present itself.

Then again, things had changed. Even if Merlin would still be sad to see old friends leave, he was no longer certain that it would break Arthur's heart. So he dared to ask:

"So, what would happen if you let them leave? Tell them to sneak out in the middle of the night, I could make sure they weren't noticed, maybe plant some false tracks, and it would look like they eloped."

Arthur eyebrows jumped up a notch. He swallowed the last piece of bread and took a step back.

"You sound like you're used to making up those kinds of plans."

Merlin just shrugged.

"Thanks for the offer," Arthur continued, "but I can't do that."

"Why not?"

Arthur's face fell. He walked over to the bed, sat down, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Because they would be named traitors and criminals, and they deserve better than that."

Merlin threw a glance at the forgotten tray of food. Then he walked over and sat down next to Arthur.

"There are worse things in the world. Take my word for it."

Arthur looked up at him.

"Merlin, I'm sorry ..."

"Yes, we've been through that."

"... and I would like to think I've learnt my lesson," Arthur said, earnestly.

_Point taken,_ Merlin thought. So then what?

"I suppose some kind of official divorce is out of the question?" he asked.

"It is. It would look horribly bad. Especially right now. Maybe in a couple of years' time, we could have got away with that, but it's too late for that now."

Did he mean he didn't think they could keep their hands off of each other even if that was explained to them? This was beginning to sound like the Arthur of the weeks before Morgana arrived, and Merlin really didn't want that moody character back.

"I think you underestimate them," he said. "They're both sensible adults, they've stayed away from each other for two years already, they can manage two more."

"Like I managed to stay away from you?" Arthur countered.

Merlin felt his face heat up.

_Stop it. This is not the right time to be blushing like a little girl._

"Arthur, if you're calling yourself a sensible adult ..." he said.

Now the King was blushing, which was an altogether much more comfortable situation.

"Shut up, Merlin!"

Arthur grinned at him. Something in Merlin's guts twirled as if he was standing at a ledge.

"That's better," Merlin said, and smiled back.

They held each other's gaze for a moment before Arthur turned away. As soon as he was looking down at his hands again, his smile slowly faded.

"It's too late because they've already spent the night together in Lancelot's room, when you were in the dungeons, and people know," Arthur said. Then he added in a whisper: "People always know these things."

This was news to Merlin, yet something about it sounded strangely familiar. Hadn't Arthur mentioned something about Gwen not sleeping in her own bed when he had come to Merlin's room? Had he known about this for _weeks_?

"And you're not throwing things around you?" Merlin asked, honestly surprised.

"I'm not _twelve_, Merlin."

"No, but you _are_ childishly fond of throwing things."

"I'm not ...!" Arthur sighed. "_Anyway_, no, I didn't get as angry as I thought I would. I was a bit _preoccupied_ at the time. But I ... I don't know. It would probably be the easiest way, to do what you just said, but I just can't bring myself to let them go. I still love her, Merlin. It's hard to admit to myself that I've already lost her."

There was a moment of silence when something fell inside Merlin.

"But I ..." he began.

He immediately shut his mouth when he realised what he had been about to say. What he had thought. What he had _felt_.

"What?" Arthur asked.

"Never mind."

_I thought you didn't love her._

It would not only be an unhelpful thing to say, it would be a _stupid _thing to say. Arthur had just said in the clearest words possible that he did. Merlin had always known that he did. He had known it before Arthur had. He had nagged Arthur about it. He had been happy about it. He had practically cheered them on. Arthur loving Gwen was _not_ the part that didn't make sense. Merlin felt like slowly strangling Gwaine for putting weird ideas in his head.

Arthur studied him with a grave look in his eyes that made Merlin feel like moving away. Or make a joke. Quickly, before Arthur said whatever he was going to say.

"Merlin, I'd like to promise you something and ask you to promise me something in return. But since you have no reason to believe me if I promise you that I'll never hurt you again, I want _you _to promise _me two_ things instead."

Arthur now sounded deadly serious and Merlin's head spun a bit as he tried to digest what he'd said.

"I don't think that really makes sense."

"Yes it does," Arthur said. "Because I want you to promise me, swear to me, that if I ever _do _try to hurt you again, you will stop me. No matter what."

Merlin's imagination wasted no time in presenting him with a dozen scenarios where that would be a bad idea, but none of them were really very likely to take place and he had a feeling this was something he should agree to for Arthur's and his own peace of mind alike.

"I can promise that," he said.

Arthur took a deep breath.

"Thank you. And then I want you to promise me ... Promise me, Merlin, that you'll never lie to me again. Even if it is to protect me, even if you think I won't want to know – never lie to me. Please."

This time, Merlin's imagination protested vehemently. There was no way a promise like that was going to make it easier for him to protect Arthur or anyone else. And he could not make that promise and not keep it – that would be the end of their friendship, definitely and permanently this time.

But what would happen if he said no?

It took a moment. Then it dawned on Merlin that he was sitting there contemplating a choice between Arthur's safety and Arthur's friendship. And while part of him might believe that Arthur's safety should be the most important thing, he knew what Arthur's own choice would be.

"I promise," he said.

Arthur looked like someone had just lifted a heavy burden off of his shoulders.

"Good. Thank you."

Silence settled for a moment.

"So ..." Arthur began, "what was it you wanted to say?

He'd lost Merlin there.

"What?" Merlin said.

He quickly retraced the conversation in his head. _Oh._

"Oh that, no, it wasn't a secret, I wasn't hiding anything!" Now he was babbling. "It was a question. I wanted to ask _you_ something. Never mind. It wasn't important."

Arthur just gave him that "oh, come on"-look.

"_Mer_lin!"

Merlin felt the blood leave his face as he heard the words coming out of his mouth.

"I just ... I just wondered how this works, because ... well, you said you loved me. There," he said dismissively, "I told you it wasn't important!"

He attempted to get up from the bed and leave, but Arthur grabbed his arm.

_Must we always end up having these conversations_ _on _beds_?_ _It doesn't exactly make it less awkward._

"Merlin," Arthur said, grabbing Merlin's face to turn it towards him, "_you _are important. I ... what I'm about to say, I will only say once, alright? You are important to me. _More_ important ... More important than Guinevere. I _do_ love you. And I know you don't love me, but even so, if I could somehow just _stop_ loving either of you I'd stop loving Guinevere and I would be happy, for the rest of my life, just to have you as a friend."

Merlin stared at Arthur. Neither of them moved. Merlin's heart was halfway up his throat and his mind was searching for words. Words like: "_You're the most important person in my life. You have been for years, and you always will be. Why did you think I stayed? Of course I ..."_

He said nothing. He _could not_ say anything. Arthur's hand was warm against his face. Merlin tried to breathe normally while those fingers slid gently up to his temple, down over his cheekbone. The touch was so light it almost tickled, but Merlin's chest was getting as heavy as if someone was piling rocks on it.

_What the hell is this?_

When Arthur's thumb brushed over his lips, Merlin had a fleeting vision of Arthur leaning forward and kissing him. A tremor ran through his body at the thought. In a fit of panic he flew up from the bed.

Arthur looked like someone who had woken up from a dream only to find someone standing in his room, watching him.

"Merlin, I ..."

"I'm sorry, I have to go," Merlin blurted out and ran out the door.

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin stopped by the stairs to catch his breath. Knights and servants passed him by while the sound of his own heartbeat echoed in his ears. Some of them stared at him. Others only dared to glance before they swiftly moved to the other side of the stairs. Merlin cursed his own absurd reaction. This wasn't him. This was Gwaine's ridiculous theories putting weird thoughts in his head. He had never reacted like this to Arthur's touch before now.

_Arthur never touched me like this before now._

Merlin's head was spinning. No, true, Arthur had not touched him like this before the ... _incident_. But Merlin had never wanted him to either. Right?

"_It would explain a lot, you have to admit," Gwaine had said._

There was that warmth that spread through his body whenever Arthur smiled or slapped his shoulder. There was that burning, unreasonable jealousy he sometimes felt, like a hungry animal tearing its way through his intestines; a feeling that had been at its strongest when Cedric had tried to wheedle his way into Arthur's confidence, but which Merlin still felt when some new servant took over duties that had once been his, even though he knew that the reason of this was that he himself was rising in rank.

_But that's a different kind of jealousy: not passionate, but professional._

Except, who gets jealous of saddling horses and picking up dirty laundry? He could not even make _himself_ believe that. It was the time spent with Arthur that he envied, even when Merlin was still in the same room himself.

_So? He's my friend. I'm reacting like this because I know how he feels for me. It's not that I feel the same for him. If I did, wouldn't I be jealous of Gwen? I never have been._

That was true. He never had been. What he had felt just now in Arthur's chambers had not been jealousy, could not have been, merely confusion. But now there was a faint bitter taste in his mouth, not at the thought of Gwen but at the thought of the pain in Arthur's eyes. Merlin loved Gwen. He really did. Still he was really itching to go and find her right now and ask her what the hell she had been thinking if she had really gone to sleep with Lancelot, _now_, and _here_.

Merlin had a sudden memory of an evening years ago, in the great hall, when Gwen had stood next to him, (much lower in rank than him back then, although he hadn't been at the court long enough to understand those things) and Merlin had said, as if he had somehow been able to predict the future:

"_So, come on, just for the sake of argument, if you had to – Arthur or Lancelot?"_

"_But I don't have to and I never will!"_

That seemed to be the problem – she had still not chosen. She had kept on believing, along with Merlin, that she would not have to. That somehow it would all work out for all of them. But the time when that could have been true was over.

Merlin wasn't stupid. He had seen Gwen's face when she had come down to the dungeons to visit him that day, he had seen the shock and dismay in her face, and he realised that she probably hadn't been able to bring herself to sleep next to Arthur after that. She had not forgiven him.

_But I have, haven't I? Despite my best tries not to._

So one of them was clearly stupid. Speaking from previous experience, it was probably him.

IYîYîYîYI


	51. Mother Knows Best

**A/N: **_I can't believe how many people are still adding this to their story alerts. (Hello, new readers! You are very welcome!) It feels like everyone and their aunt must have read this story by now. Where are you even finding it? Well, any way, I'm very baffled and very grateful. _

_Speaking of the slow update rate, the main reason for it now is that I'm working on several chapters in a row at the moment so that the plot won't tie itself in a knot for me right at the final chapters (which, lo and behold, are within sight). I beg for your continued patience._

_Here's the next chapter, for old and new readers alike._

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_There was a time  
>when you'd let me know<br>what was real and going on below  
>But now you never show it to me, do you?"<em>

- Leonard Cohen, _Hallelujah_

IYîYîYîYI

**Mother Knows Best**

Gwen stood in Mim and Hunith's rooms. Behind her, the older woman was reading to the little girl. In front of her, down on the street outside the window, Lancelot was talking to Gwaine. She could not hear what they were saying, but she saw that Lancelot looked troubled.

She had heard about the fight with Sir Mador. It seemed everyone in Camelot had heard about it, and along with that, heard about the claims Mador had made. The people who had used to smile at her on the street now looked away when she approached. Some, who thought they had enough moral high ground to, glared. It had been five days, and it had only gotten worse. She heard people begin to whisper behind her back the moment she had passed. This morning, a man on the courtyard had spat after her. She could probably have had him in the stocks for that, at the very least, if she had wanted to, but she had been so stunned that she had not said a word. Since the day she had officially been engaged to Arthur, she had been the Queen of the People. Now, it seemed the people had made up their mind not only to believe in rumours, but to let it be reason enough to condemn her. It seemed their favour had always remained with Arthur, and her popularity had been ephemeral.

No, popularity was the wrong word. She had never sought to be popular, or felt the need to be. She was a blacksmith's daughter, not a princess. But the_ respect_ of the people around her, that was something she had enjoyed long before Arthur had come into her life, something her father had thought her to seek before anything else. She had had the respect of the people, and she had lost it. Perhaps she had lost Arthur's respect as well. Since the battle between Lancelot and Sir Mador, they had barely talked. Arthur had not seemed angry with her – like he had that time when Olaf had been visiting and _he_ had been the one sleeping in some other bed – but he had seemed worried, refused to talk about it, and avoided her. She got the feeling that the rumours in themselves suddenly troubled him more than whether or not there was any truth behind them. She did not know whether that should make her feel relieved or slighted. These rumours were destroying everything that Gwen had thought important in her life, and even though they had gotten almost everything wrong, there was still truth enough in them to ensure her that she had no one to blame but herself.

"Guinevere?" Hunith called. "Are you crying?"

Gwen quickly wiped her cheeks and turned around.

"No. No, of course not."

She tried to smile, but it felt strained. Hunith passed the book to Mim.

"Try reading yourself for a while, love, while I talk to the Queen."

Mim nodded and looked up at Gwen. Gwen held back a shiver. There was something about the little girl that did not sit right with her. It had taken her a while to figure out what it was. When she had, she could still not shake the feeling. The feeling that Morgana was there. Not the cold, evil sorceress she had turned into, but the lady Gwen had served since they were both young girls, looking at Gwen through the eyes of a fair-haired little witch who had the same bright eyes, the same way of moving her hands, the same way of walking through the simplest of rooms with a posture that said she was born to rule the world. Morgana had thought that little girl magic. Perhaps read to her, as Hunith did now. Perhaps been kind to her – Morgana could still be kind, or pretend to, when it suited her, Gwen knew that – she had smiled to the girl, given her gifts, brushed her hair. Looked after her. These were all thoughts and images that reminded Gwen of a life that seemed so long ago, so fundamentally different from the one she was now living, that it might as well have been a dream she had once dreamt. The irony was, of course, that when the blacksmiths daughter, the servant girl, who had fallen in love with a prince, married him and become Queen, compared her old life with her new one, it should be the _old_ life that seemed like a dream.

Hunith led Gwen into the next room. It was smaller than the one they had left, not containing much more than the bed where Hunith slept. They both sat down on it.

"I have heard what people are talking about, Guinevere," Hunith said.

Gwen did not dare to look at her face, afraid of the disappointment she would see there. She knew how much respect Hunith held for Arthur. For a moment she was tempted to tell Hunith what Arthur had put her son through. But even if Gwen had had a better reason than self defence to do so, it was not her place to tell her if Arthur and Merlin would not.

"Guinevere, look at me," Hunith coaxed. "I'm not going to shout at you, or lecture you, or tell you off. I just want to know how you feel."

Gwen could now help it – she began to cry. She hardly knew why, the tears seemed to well up as if they had been held back for years rather than days. It was embarrassing, to collapse in that way on the older woman's bed, but Hunith simply slipped and arm around Gwen's shoulders and pulled her into an embrace. Gwen had not cried like this since she was a little child. Her father had always been bothered by tears, electing to pat her shoulder awkwardly and then quickly get her to talk about something else. Sometimes he had gone on and on about the art of making a perfect sword, simply holding a hand on her shoulder as she cried. In a way, it had been comforting, but she had felt how uneasy it made him and soon learnt not to cry in front of him. She barely remembered her mother, but being held in Hunith's arms now felt so strangely familiar that it just made her cry harder.

"There, love. It will be alright. All those people out there, talking, they're just conveniently forgetting all the mistakes _they've_ made in life, aren't they? They're all so quick to condemn, the gods knows, as soon as someone breaks their rules. But they're no better than you. Don't ever let them make you think they are."

Gwen gulped for air.

"I've been so stupid, Hunith," she said, and her voice came out almost as a squeak. "I thought ... When Lancelot came back, why didn't I just go with him? How could I think I could avoid hurting Arthur, in the end? Did I really think he needed me so much that he couldn't just ... get over me in a few weeks and find someone else? Someone better? Why would I think I was that special? I didn't even sleep with him, Hunith, I just ... I love Lancelot so much. I can't get him out of my head. I thought I could. And instead I've ruined everything!"

Hunith held her a little closer.

"Sometimes, when we try not to hurt anyone, we wind up hurting everyone. It's tragic, and it's painful, but it doesn't mean our intentions weren't good."

"What am I going to do?" Gwen asked.

Hunith stroked her back, but she did not reply.

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur needed to hide from the world. He felt like everyone was studying him extra closely recently. People looked at him for a moment after he had given an order before they went off and carried it out, as if they thought he might suddenly change his mind. They asked him how he was or how he felt far more times than politeness would account for. Some made subtle remarks that did not actually question his actions and decisions, but still hinted surreptitiously that there might be something wrong with them. Arthur had noticed an increase in raised eyebrows worried frowns directed at him ever since he had changed the law on magic, but since Lancelot's infamous battle with Sir Mador it seemed to have changed in nature to something slightly more disturbing. He had, several times a day for the last couple of days, had to fight the childish impulse to stomp his foot and shout: "stop looking at me like I'm going bloody feeble minded!" He needed some time with someone who would not encourage that impulse, and right now he did not consider any of Gwen, Lancelot or Merlin as an option. The first two because it was not exactly taking his mind of the problem, and the latter because he was not sure how far he could trust himself around Merlin anymore. He had made an awkward apology for making Merlin run out of the room a few days earlier, but Merlin had replied by dismissing it and changing the subject. So, the search for uncomplicated company and a place to hide for a while brought him to Mim's room.

When he knocked and walked in, Mim was sitting on the floor and a chair was hovering in front of her. She looked up, and when she saw him her concentrated frown turned into a smile that transformed her face.

"Arthur!" she shouted and ran over to him, letting the chair crash to the floor behind her.

The pure affection in her eyes was enough to make Arthur's heart mend and break all over again. He knelt down and swept her up into his arms.

"Hello, princess. Trying to teach the furniture to fly, are you?"

Mim beamed with pride.

"Did you see? I can lift the table too, I can show you. But not the bed, it's too difficult."

"Too heavy, is it?" Arthur asked.

"No!" Mim protested, looking as if he'd insulted her.

"No, of course not," Arthur agreed, smiling at how caught up in her own world Mim was. He wished he could follow her to whatever place she was in. Had childhood really been that simple? "So what's the problem?" he asked.

"I think it's too many parts. I try, but I always lift the pillows or the blankets instead."

"Well, that's something, isn't it? You know, when I was your age, my nanny told me a story from far, far away, about a carpet that could fly, and you could ride on it as if it was a horse and use it to travel through the air."

Mim stared at him.

"I could _never _control a spell that much! The wizard in the story must have been almost as powerful as Merlin!"

Arthur was stunned for a moment by how strange that sentence still sounded.

"I don't think they mentioned any wizard in the story," he finally replied. "I think the hero just found the carpet like that. I don't know. It's been a long time since I heard it."

"Can _I_ read it?" Mim asked. "I can read almost all the words now."

"The storybook? I don't know, I'm not sure where it could be. I can ask Geoffrey if it's in the library later. Now, why don't you show me what a flying table looks like?"

It was strange to watch Mim's eyes change colour. It made him feel as if magic was something almost living inside her, a fire that flared up to the surface and lit up her eyes from within when she used it. Magic had always seemed frightening to him, and that had not changed. But it was fascinating too.

The table wobbled a couple of times and then rose into the air. It stayed there for a while, then descended in a shaky but clearly controlled movement. The instant it touched the floor, Mim looked up at him for approval. He complimented her and she threw her thin arms around his neck and hid her face under his chin. Mim was a bit too big to be carried around like this, but it seemed to make her calm and Arthur had to admit that it made him feel calmer, too. He sat down on the bed and leant against the headboard. He wondered where Hunith was. He asked, and Mim said she had gone to see Merlin a while ago. Then she went on to tell him about all the things Merlin had thought her the last time he had visited her: the spells, the tricks, the rules she needed to follow and the things she needed to practise on. Arthur listened with half an ear and wondered what his father would say if he could see him now. The man was probably turning in his grave. To his own surprise, Arthur found he did not really care. He had loved his father. He still missed him sometimes. But there was no denying that he had been a stubborn, hard-headed hypocrite a lot of the time, who apparently had not always been averse to turning to magic. So even if he had walked into the room right now, what could he possibly have the right to say? That the talkative, self-centred and absolutely adorable little girl leaning against Arthur's chest had no right to live? It all seemed so preposterous now.

Mim mentioned something Merlin had practiced with her a few days ago, making her conjure that smoke that she had used to fight Arthur's entire army in much smaller quantities and_ control_ it, encouraging her to try and turn it into other things, things without fangs and claws.

Arthur remembered that day. He had been there.

It was not something they had discussed, but it was clear that both he and Merlin tried to avoid visiting Mim when the other man was there. In all other rooms of the castle, all other times of the day, they could pretend that nothing important had changed between them – but not in this room. Not where Merlin had to use magic in front of Arthur if he did not want to explain to Mim why that made him uncomfortable. Not where Arthur had to sit and watch for the same reason. A part of him did not want to see Merlin use magic. Wanted to get up and walk away, blocking out the slightly disturbing image as fast as possible. Another part of him was riveted to the sight. That day, Merlin had brought forth a tiny golden dragon, like the ones he had used to fight Morgana. Mim had cringed and moved away, complaining that it moved like a snake, but Merlin had not made it go away, only smiled and told her that dragons and snakes had nothing in common and that if she ever met a real dragon, she should be careful not to say that. The little golden creature had walked up Merlin's arm and settled around his neck like a collar, looking very pleased with itself.

"There are no more dragons," Mim had said. "They were all killed. Dad said so."

Mim never talked about her original family. Merlin never talked about the dragon. The room had grown silent – silent except for the purring sound that the little creature made.

"Is it ... alive?" Arthur had asked.

Merlin had looked shocked for a moment, and Arthur could not blame him. This was the third unspoken truth: that Arthur never talked about magic. Not if he could help it.

"Not really," Merlin had said. "It's not born, and it can't die – only dissolve into magic again. In that way, it's more like a part of me. But I don't control everything it does; it can react on its own. But it doesn't have thoughts and feelings like a real dragon, only like a ... like a worm, or a bug, maybe. Something mindless."

While Merlin had talked, Mim had crept forward and poked the little dragon. It had hissed and spat out a tiny flame at her hand, making her scream and retreat again. This time Merlin had waved his hand and the dragon went up in a puff of golden smoke.

"Proves my point," he had said with a slightly disappointed glare at Mim.

The image of Merlin with the golden dragon wrapped over his shoulders had haunted Arthur for days. It sent shivers down his spine. He could not decide if it was fear or something else.

IYîYîYîYI

Someone knocked on Merlin's door.

"Hold on, I'm done in a minute," he yelled, assuming it to be Arthur.

The door opened anyway, and he heard his mother's amused voice:

"Merlin, what on earth are you doing? It's a bit late for the spring cleaning, isn't it?"

"I'm just ... looking for this ... book."

Merlin was halfway under the bed, and Hunith could probably only see his legs flailing as he reached for a volume that he had lost a while ago, and which had apparently had been lying right there and gathered dust while he had searched both Gaius quarters, his own, and the entire library (while Geoffrey had stared at him as if he had feared Merlin would turn his books into frogs). He grabbed the book and began to push himself backwards out of the dust infested nightmare that was the area under his bed. He heard his mother laughing quietly behind him. Then, as he was almost free, the sound stopped short. Merlin noticed that his tunic had gotten stuck and been pulled up, leaving much of his back exposed.

_Oh._

For a moment he wanted to crawl back underneath the bed.

"Oh, Merlin," Hunith said.

Now her voice sounded strained. Merlin hit his head on the underside of the bed trying to get out and up on his feet as fast as possible. He pulled the tunic down so violently that the dust it had gathered up flew off it. He dreaded the expression he would find on his mother's face. He held his breath as he turned around.

It was hard to read her. She looked sad, mostly, but Merlin knew how quickly his mother's sadness could turn into anger if someone had been wronged.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he said, knowing full well that the scars had healed quicker and better than they should have and that therefore, it had actually been worse than it probably looked.

"And it seems the ban on magic was not lifted as easily as I wanted to believe, either."

Merlin looked down at the floor. Suddenly he felt like a big child.

"It wasn't exactly pleasant, but, in hindsight, it was a small price to pay."

"A small price? Your back is covered in scars!"

Hunith reached forward to touch his shoulder, but Merlin took a step back. He wanted to finish the discussion first.

"Yes," he said. "And it hurt, and I was angry, and for a short while I even considered leaving, but ..."

"Why didn't you?" Hunith interrupted. "Why didn't you come home?"

Merlin had no idea what to say that would not be a lie, nor risk to break his mother's heart.

"Because my place is here," he finally settled for.

Hunith sighed, but she did not protest. After all, she had said as much to him herself, years ago.

"Well, why didn't you tell me?" she asked instead.

Merlin said nothing.

"Didn't you think I'd want to know that someone had my child flogged like a criminal?" Hunith pressed.

"It had already happened! I didn't want you to get upset at ... I didn't want you to get upset!"

Hunith studied him.

"It upsets me that you would keep something like this from me, Merlin."

"I know, I ... I didn't think it through. And I just wanted to forget about it! Anyway, they're just scars, just ... _marks_. As soon as Alice comes, if she gets Gaius' letter, I'll ask her if she can make them go away completely."

Hunith frowned.

"Do they hurt?"

"No, I just ... I don't want anyone to have to see them. I don't want Arthur to have to see them."

"Maybe it would humble him if he did," Hunith said.

Merlin wondered if she would actually attempt to take this up with Arthur.

"When he needs humbling, I can remind him. Of this and several things. He's got more important things to concentrate on," he said.

"More import than you?"

The unintentional reference of those words made Merlin's heart flutter.

"Yes," he said, and wondered if that qualified as a lie.

"I don't believe that," Hunith said.

"He's the _King _of_ all of Camelot_," Merlin countered.

Hunith sighed and smiled a sad little smile. She could not argue that with that.

Then her smile turned mischievous.

"For a while, when you began to say you didn't want anyone to see the scars, I thought you wanted them removed for the sake of some girl."

"Mother!" Merlin sputtered.

His voice went high, which just made his mother's smile widen.

"When would I have time to meet a girl anyway?"

He went to put the book away – somewhere where he would find it, next time.

"Love doesn't need you to set aside time for it," Hunith said behind him, "it finds you anyway. I call your bluff and say that if it was only for Arthur's sake, surely you only need a shirt to keep them hidden. "

Merlin stopped with his hand on the book halfway on to the small shelf on his wall. He didn't know what to reply to that. It was true. There really was no reason why Arthur should have to see those scars. Then again, he already had, not just when he had treated them, but the morning before the battle with Morgana when Arthur had been in his room. Merlin remembered how Arthur had blushed and felt himself begin to blush as well. And then he remembered how his skin had burned when Arthur's hands had slid up under his tunic that night, and he almost slammed the book down trying to shake off that feeling.

When he turned around Hunith was smiling.

"See, I've discovered you secret! Who is it?"

_No. That's not what's going on._

"Please, leave it alone."

Hunith raised her hands in defeat.

"And don't ... please don't confront Arthur about this either. Just ..."

He searched for a way to change the subject, but his mind was disturbingly blank.

"I'm sorry, I'm busy. I'll talk to you later."

Hunith looked like she wanted to say something more, but all she said was:

"I'll keep you to that, you know. Mim wants to see you, too."

As she left, Merlin realised she had not promised not talk to Arthur.

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur was reading to Mim, who was falling asleep even though it was barely evening yet, when Hunith marched in through the door.

"Oh. Hello, Hunith," he said.

Hunith looked frozen to the spot. Something in her expression immediately told Arthur that he had done something wrong. And there was one obvious answer to what. He swallowed. He had met many knights in full armour and the size of two men who could never hope to look half as frightening as an angry mother could.

"You had him flogged," she simply said, quietly.

Arthur was glad that Mim seemed to have slipped so far into slip that she was no longer listening.

"Yes," he said. He tried to think fast and talk slowly. "Look, Hunith ... You're his mother, and I understand that nothing I say can justify to you why I would let your son go through that. I was angry, and hurt, and I gave an order I never thought I could give. All I can say is ... at that time, the law said he should be executed, and he lives. The law said Mim should have been killed, and here she sits, in my father's castle, learning about magic."

Hunith's expression did not change and she did not move an inch.

"She's sitting here alive because you need him, isn't she?"

And now Arthur had offended both her children. This was not getting any better.

"Yes," he had to admit again, "I do need him. But I'd like to believe Mim's also here because I would not hurt an innocent child, and because one day, when I'm dead, I hope she will celebrate my death, but mourn me with gratitude. And maybe you think that's just vanity, but I just ... I don't want to realise one day when I'm old and grey that I turned out like my father, and that the only legacy I will leave for my people is a grave for them to spit at."

"I could punch you," Hunith said.

Arthur did not doubt her.

"Go ahead. I won't stop you, and I certainly wouldn't hold it against you."

Hunith shoulders sank. She leant back against the table.

"I won't," she said. "I saw you together, back when you saved Ealdor. I saw how much you need each other. I can't believe that was just my imagination, or that it would just go away. And I see how much he still loves you."

Hunith could not know how those words affected Arthur.

"But Arthur Pendragon," she continued, "If you ever hurt my son again, don't believe for a single moment that the crown on your head would stop a mother from defending her child."

A familiar pain that Arthur had not felt in years sprang up inside him. For a moment he imagined a woman with pale blond hair and blue eyes standing beside Hunith.

"I made him promise that he would kill me before he ever let me hurt him again," Arthur told her.

Hunith laughed.

"I'm sure he did. But that means nothing. That boy would not lift a finger against you even if you set the world on fire."

Arthur instinctively touched the back of his head.

"I wouldn't be so sure," he said with a wince of remembered pain.

If he saw a glint of pride in Hunith's eyes, that was not more than right.

IYîYîYîYI

When Lancelot finally got back to his room for the evening he collapsed on the bed and hid his face in his hands. "You should have killed the little creep," Gwaine had told him earlier. Lancelot thought he never should have started the fight at all. He should have listened to reason and cynical cunning instead of following the Knight's Code as if it was divine law, practically jumping at the bait. He should have let their talk go uncommented, let it remain idle gossip with no connection to the real world. Now all of Camelot knew that Sir Lancelot had denied that he had an affair with the Queen, and that seemed to be the second best thing to an admission to people. He saw the way they looked at him now – not the way they had looked at him when they thought he was a peasant undeserving of knighthood, not the way they looked at Gwaine when they thought he was an unpredictable hothead that could not be trusted, not the way they looked at Merlin as if he was something both outlandish and dangerous – but the way you look at a traitor. Someone who has betrayed everything they believed in – honour, friendship, and loyalty, all at once – and who would have been better off if they had never been born. It was too late now to say that it was not true. Not only would no one believe him, but Lancelot was not sure he believed it himself. He loved Guinevere. Loved her more than his own honour, more than his friendship with Arthur, more than the life he led in Camelot. Her honour was not to be questioned, but his? Gwaine would say he was crazy to think that way. That the Knight's Code had gone to his head. Sometimes, times like these, Lancelot wished he could be more like the other knight. That he did not care about these things, that he put no value in the rules of others. But he was not that man.

In the end, it was only the thought of Guinevere that kept Lancelot from throwing himself on his sword. He could never leave her to face those blaming eyes alone. As long as he drew breath, that was the last trust he would ever betray.


	52. Gold aka the Easter Egg

_*A/N: __**NB! THIS CHAPTER IS AN EASTER EGG!***_

_This chapter actually contributes absolutely nothing to the plot. I might be able to excuse it by saying it deepens the characterisations and the moods of the story, but while that's true, the long and short of it is that this chapter is plain old fanservice. As such, I was going to let it remain unpublished, but then I thought: "You know what? My fans _**deserve **_some fanservice!" And, it's Easter. For Christmas you got fluff, for Easter I bring you smut. Or, well, as smutty as this particular story is going to get._

_It also brings the total chapter count for this story up to an even 60, which pleases someone with my OCD-tendencies._

_Kudos (or blame! :P) goes to __xXMistressMadHatterXx __ who suggested this chapter, although I don't think it's exactly what she was after. _

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_There's a ghost in my lungs and it sighs in my sleep  
>Wraps itself around my tongue as it softly speaks<br>then it walks, then it walks with my legs  
>to fall, to fall at your feet"<em>

- Florence + The Machine,_ I' not Calling You a Liar_

IYîYîYîYI

**Gold**

_Arthur walked through the castle. He was looking for something, something important, but he could not remember what it was. He knew that he _had _known what it was. He also knew that it was day outside, yet the corridors were empty, and silent apart from a beating sound that came from somewhere ahead of him. As the beat grew stronger, the gates of the great hall appeared. They flew open, and Guinevere came running out, running past him, with tears in her eyes, dressed only in her undergarments. Arthur turned around and moved to follow her, to help her, to ask her what was wrong – but that beat went on behind him, and he could not ignore it. Guinevere vanished._

I can't help her anymore, _he thought, and felt sad. _

_He walked through the gates, following the sound. The moment he entered the room, it stopped._

_The great hall seemed bigger than he remembered it being. The ceiling seemed as high above him as the sky, and instead of the candleholders that were usually mounted on the walls there were torches the size of small trees. _

_The thrones at the far end where twice as tall as man. _

That's not very practical.

_Someone was seated on one of them, dangling his legs over the high ledge. Arthur walked closer._

"_Welcome, King Arthur," an unfamiliar voice said._

_It was an old man's voice, and yet not a man's voice at all. It gave Arthur shivers, but he kept walking._

_The man on the throne was Merlin. Arthur had to turn up his head to look at him. He was wearing blue, but not the tunic Arthur had seen before. This was a much more luxurious garment, a smoother fabric, embroidered with silver threads. He wore black leather boots that shone more than any Merlin had ever polished, and his skin looked like ivory in the light of the torches. On his head there was a crown: gleaming gold to match the colour of his eyes. The crown resembled none Arthur had ever seen in Camelot – in fact, what it resembled most was flames of fire. Or wings, reaching for the heavens._

_The crown moved, and Arthur saw what it was: one of Merlin's golden miniature dragons. _

_But this one_ talked.

"_You are a bit late, young King," it said with the voice Arthur had heard before, "but then again, humans so very often are."_

_Merlin shushed at it._

Merlin shushed at the dragon.

"_Don't worry him, Kilgharrah," he said. "He has all the time in the world."_

_Arthur found himself shaking his head. _

"_No," he said, knowing what he said to be true, true and important: "There's never all the time in the world."_

_The dragon laughed, and the sound echoed through the hall._

"_Well, well," it chuckled. "There is wisdom in the son of Uther after all."_

_The dragon flexed its wings, and reflexes of golden light danced over the walls. Over Merlin and Arthur. Over the empty throne by Merlin's side._

This is a dream, _Arthur thought._

IYîYîYîYI

_Arthur blinked and suddenly found himself standing in his old room. The echoing beat was gone, the strange sizes and shapes of things had returned to normal. Had he woken up? Had he been standing here dreaming? How tired must he have been for that to happen?_

_A cool breeze hit his face and he noticed that the window was open, so he went over to close it. It was a starry night outside, with a bright full moon shining in through the window panes. The latch felt cold in his hands. This could not be a dream._

"_You're quiet," Merlin said behind him, "what are you thinking about?"_

"_I had this weird ..."_

_Arthur stopped as he turned around fully._

"_Never mind," he said._

_Merlin was standing with his back to him, removing his tunic. Blue. The moonlight hit his torso and made it look almost luminous. When Arthur went quiet Merlin turned around and smiled impishly._

"_See something you like?"_

"_I do, as a matter of fact," Arthur heard himself say although he felt as if the breath had been knocked out of his lungs._

_Merlin put his thumbs under the lining of his trousers, looking straight at Arthur, and paused there with a wicked glint in his eye. Arthur walked up to him, holding his gaze all the way._

"_Being a tease tonight, are we?"_

_He had no idea where these words were coming from. _

"_You're the one who's looking at me like you could eat me whole and not doing anything about it," Merlin countered._

_The blue light of the moon and the yellow light of the candle on the bedside table were both reflected on Merlin's skin, shifting and dancing in patterns across it when the flame flickered, or when Merlin moved. Gently, Arthur put his hands on Merlin's shoulders, and let them slide slowly downwards. He felt Merlin shiver under his touch. His skin was so soft, so smooth and warm. So much power was contained under that skin, skin so near translucent in its paleness that it made Arthur think he could have seen the magic underneath it if he had known what to look for. He leant forward and kissed one of the shoulders his hands had just left, tracing Merlin's collarbone with his mouth. He felt Merlin's finger entwining in his hair as he continued downwards. Arthur's hands roamed over as much of Merlin's skin as he could reach. His movements were slow, not because he meant them to be but because he felt like he had no choice, like he was moving through water. He tried to memorise the feeling of every single square inch, lingering at the ribs, at that ticklish spot in the side that made Merlin's abdomen tense up, at the hips where Arthur could feel the bone under the skin and the thin layer of surprisingly strong muscles. The candle flickered up to a flame for an instant when Arthur slipped down to his knees in front of Merlin._

_It was like performing a sacred ritual – he could not remember ever having done it before, but still he felt as if he had done this a hundred times, as if already knew how every inch of Merlin felt before he touched it; knew how it would taste. When he placed his mouth on a spot right above Merlin's left hip, his hands were prepared for the way Merlin flinched forward, and held him still without gripping any harder. A moan escaped from Merlin's lips that took Arthur's breath away. He looked up and saw the flush on Merlin's cheeks, and the erratic rise and fall of his chest. Merlin's pupils were so dilated from the dark and from what they were doing that it made his eyes seem black – surrounded by a thin circle of bright, shining gold._

"_If you can't control yourself, I'll have to stop," Arthur said._

"_Cruel bastard," Merlin muttered._

_Arthur smiled and ran his fingers teasingly along the edge of Merlin's trousers. _

"_I mean it. I'm not making up another strange explanation for why my window needs to be replaced."_

"_That only happened twice," Merlin protested, but he closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. When his eyes met Arthur's again, they had gone back to their usual blue. If Arthur had not known what could happen when Merlin lost control (he could not remember any examples right now, but he knew it was bad) he would have felt disappointed. The fingers that had been grabbing Arthur's hair unclenched and Merlin ran his thumb along the side of Arthur's face._

_Arthur's heart clenched at the tenderness of the touch._

"_Feeling a bit more stable?" he asked, willing his voice not to shake._

_Merlin nodded. Without breaking eye contact Arthur untied Merlin's trousers and let them fall to the floor. _

_He followed every reaction on Merlin's face: when his mouth fell open, when his eyes fell shut, the blush that deepened and the sound of his breath that grew into soft gasps. The way Merlin's throat moved as he swallowed, as if mimicking what Arthur was doing. The hand in Arthur's hair clenched again, holding him as if Arthur was likely to stop._

_Merlin said his name. Said it in a way Arthur did not think he had ever heard anyone say it, and especially not Merlin, as if it was the most important word in the world – the last word he still remembered before he was brought over the edge._

_Arthur was still wiping his mouth when Merlin knelt with him on the floor, put both his hands in Arthur's hair and kissed him, hard. It felt as if the fire and power that Merlin carried inside him enclosed Arthur too, as if it was setting his blood on fire and filling his mind with clouds. But he knew Merlin did not, and would not ever, need magic to leave Arthur's body warm, relaxed and pliant under his hands. Merlin barely needed to touch him before Arthur's world turned black. _

_Merlin leant back slightly, but kept his hands on Arthur's back. If he had let go, Arthur thought he might have fallen over. Merlin looked him up and down, and Arthur blushed when he thought of how he must look, spent and sticky; his lips were swollen, his hair was a mess, and he was so dazed he was almost collapsing on his own bedroom floor. Merlin leant back in, so close that Arthur felt his lips against his ear, and whispered._

"_Have I told you how beautiful you are?"_

_Arthur shivered._

"_When I'm on my knees for you?" he said, trying to sound like he was joking it off._

"Always_."_

_A chill ran through Arthur as he realised, suddenly and unquestionably, that he was still dreaming. Merlin would never be saying these things to him. Merlin would never let Arthur do this to him. But it felt so good to let himself be fooled._

IYîYîYîYI

* * *

><p><strong>Happy Easter!<strong>


	53. A Message for the Queen

**A/N: **_Sorry about the repeated delays. My self-discipline is awful.__This one is one of the shortest chapters yet, I know, but it's almost like a trailer. The next one will be that much longer for it._

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_We always thought we were inseparable,  
>sisters not by blood, but by soul.<br>Well, something's come between us now:  
>Get ready to watch the fall, fall, fall.<em>

Forever doesn't live here anymore.  
>Forever took its bags and shut the door."<p>

- Marit Bergman, _Forever Doesn't Live Here Anymore_

IYîYîYîYI

**A Message for the Queen**

Lancelot was on his way to the round table. He was late. The sound of his own footsteps echoed in his head. The last few days he had felt almost as if he was walking around in a fever. His head felt as if it was filled with fog, and his thoughts felt slow. Even his reactions when he was fighting were beginning to get sluggish. He wondered how no one else had noticed.

Lancelot was torn out of his reveries when a door flew up further ahead and a maid stumbled into the hallway as if she had been pushed. After her followed Sir Hector, fuming.

"You, miss, should learn your place," he growled. "Do you really think your tittle-tattle is of any use to me? What do you imagine your word is worth?"

As Lancelot carefully walked closer, he thought he recognised the girl as Gwen's missing maidservant; but there was something strange about her appearance, as if it had changed in some way and Lancelot could simply not see what it was.

"I only thought ..." she began, but Hector cut her off as if he had not even heard her.

"Save the thinking for others, young girl. I don't need busybodies like you to tell me what I can see with my own eyes."

The old knight stomped away down the hallway, seemingly in hurry, and the woman (whom Lancelot was now almost certain was Elaine) levelled a scorching glare at his retreating back.

Lancelot walked up to her.

"Elaine?"

She stood still for a second as if she had not heard him, then suddenly she spun around.

"Sir Lancelot!"

She curtsied awkwardly.

"I didn't know you were back," Lancelot said. "The Queen told me you had gone missing."

"I did. I had, sir. I only just came back, sir."

"I'm sure she's glad to have you back. I appologise for Hector's rudeness. He should know better."

She smiled at him, and for a moment he thought she looked sad.

"Some men step over dead bodies without blinking to get what they want, why should they have a problem with stepping on the living?"

It was such a simultaneously very true and absolutely improper thing for a servant to say that Lancelot could not think of an answer. But then that strange expression disappeared from Elaine's face.

"I had a message for you, Sir Lancelot. I had not expected to run in to you like this, is all, sir. My lady asked me to tell you that she wants you to go and see her in her room as soon as possible."

Lancelot frowned.

"In her room? Why?"

"I don't know, sir," Elaine said, "but she said it was very important."

Lancelot had never even been in that room, and this seemed like a bad time to start. He wondered what could possibly have given Gwen such an ill-advised idea.

"And she was crying," Elaine added.

IYîYîYîYI

When Arthur had left their room in the mornings, he seldom returned to it before evening. The work he had to do was usually found in the great hall, or the council chambers, or on the court yard. If he had to do paperwork of some kind, he had taken to sitting in the library. Gwen had her own set of tasks and duties, but it did not take up nearly as much of her time as Arthur's did his – meaning she had plenty of opportunities to return to their room over the day. This last week, she had spent more time than ever in their room, just to hide herself from people's knowing eyes.

She returned to the room about noon to find a piece of paper lying on the table. When she walked up to read it – assuming that it was a note from Arthur – she saw that it was a blank envelope. She picked it up to see if something was written on the other side, but as she did, the world turned black.

In the darkness, she heard the voice of Morgana speaking inside her head.

_My dear Gwen. Things didn't go as I had planned. I shan't be coming back to Camelot in a while, but I felt so bad that I hadn't got to see you, so I decided to leave you a little message. I'm sorry about Elaine. I know how painful it is to realise that your maidservant will no longer be by your side. _

_If you get the chance to talk to Emrys, who I'm sure is enjoying his place, by Arthur's side, being allowed to use magic in public, being the hero that made it legal - then you can tell him that Mordred disagrees with me, but that I have seen what the future holds for Emrys, and the price he is going to pay will be more than enough, when that day comes. But you, my sweet, will pay yours and then make your exit from this play_ right now._"_

IYîYîYîYI

When Gwen woke up she was lying on the floor. Her left shoulder hurt, and her head throbbed.

Someone was knocking on the door.


	54. The Ballad of Lancelot and Guinevere

**A/N:**_All right, it's official: I FAIL at updating. I could give some rant here about how I both worked full time and studied full time for all of May, and about how devilishly hard it was to get back into the story after that (I'm still not sure I have, but I'll let you be the judges of that), but you don't want my excuses, do you? You want another chapter. Here it is, no. 54 of 60. And yes, I totally chose that song to try and defend the totally random title of this fic. But I think it fits this story-arch, too._

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_The wall started shaking  
>I heard love crying out<br>Happiness is giving away  
>Security is coming down<em>

_He fell, I fell  
>And all there is left to tell<em>

_Is all the king's horses  
>All the king's men<br>Couldn't put our two hearts  
>Together again"<em>

- Aretha Franklin,_ All the King's Horses_

IYîYîYîYI

**The Ballad of Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere**

Gwen almost expected to see Morgana when she opened the door. When she saw Lancelot's concerned face it was like waking up from a bad dream. She nearly cried with relief.

"Lancelot! Thank god."

She let him in, closed the door behind him and flung her arms around his neck. She was still shaking, and it felt good to lean on someone else.

"Are you alright?" Lancelot asked. "What's happened?"

"No, I'm not. I think something terrible is going to happen."

"Why?"

She had to stop and take a few deep breaths.

"I had a letter, from Morgana."

Lancelot's expression hardened.

"What did it say?"

"That she wanted revenge. She said something about the future being punishment enough for Merlin but that I would suffer now. I don't know ..."

Gwen's voice faltered. A chill ran down her spine as she realised that there was something wrong with this situation.

Lancelot had never been in this room before.

"What are you ... why are you here?"

He looked confused.

"You asked me to come."

Gwen felt cold rising up inside her like mist rising on the fields as the sun sinks below the horizon.

"I asked you to come?" she repeated, but Lancelot didn't seem to hear the dread or the resignation in her voice.

"Do you have that letter?" he asked. He had not understood yet, but Gwen was beginning to.

"No. I mean yes, but it's just a blank piece of paper. Lancelot, who told you I had asked you to come here?"

"Elaine."

Elaine.

"_I know how painful it is to realise that your maidservant will no longer be by your side," _Morgana had said.

It had been Elaine from the start.

"No. No, you have to go. You have to go now."

But the moment she said it, someone banged on the door.

"Sir Lancelot!" came the cry from outside. "We know you're in there. Come out."

Lancelot looked down at her. If this had been in his room, Gwen would have been able to escape through the servants' entrance. But this was the King's chambers, and when it had belonged to Uther he had had the servants' entrance sealed in a fit of paranoia. There was no way out.

IYîYîYîYI

It was not as if Arthur had not been prepared for this day a long time now. But when it finally came it still managed to surprise him, catching up with him at the one moment when it was bound to be the last thing on his mind.

They were going to have a meeting at the round table. They were supposed to have begun already, but it was not a vitally important meeting, and maybe that was why only a few people had arrived. Guinevere was not there yet, neither was Lancelot or Elyan, and, perhaps just as important for what was about to happen, Merlin was not there yet.

Sir Hector was. He marched in through the door, slowly but confidently, with a small group of men beside him and asked to be allowed to speak – as knights often were, if there were any concerns that needed to be voiced. Arthur suspected that he knew what Hector's concern was, and the old knight was clearly not going to beat around the bush this time.

The knights were seated, and Hector spoke.

"My lord, it has been months since you lifted the ban on magic. You told us that if we waited, we would see that the people would get used to it, that they would come to consider it a good decision. But instead we see, every day, that the people are still scared – scared of magic, as they've always been, and scared to have it at the heart of the court. There are many who believe that the King himself is under a spell. Such rumours are disruptive and difficult to silence. They could undermine your rule, even, the gods forbid, lead to rebellion. For the stability of your rule, Sire, we ask you reinstate the ban, but above all, for the love of Camelot, we must _demand _that you send the sorcerer away."

Arthur had not expected him to use that angle. But now that he had, he saw how perfect it was. Hector was not questioning Arthur's rule, no, he sounded like he was defending it – the only thing he was doing, based on what probably sounded like reasonable arguments, was demanding Arthur send one single man away – the one thing Hector knew he would never agree to. Of course, if Arthur did not send Merlin away, that would be all the proof Hector needed that the King was enchanted and rebellion necessary. And yet he still kept his lines of retreat open, not saying much about his own opinion or his own theories – just making general remarks about the fears and suspicions of _other people_. Arthur could almost applaud him.

Or, he could force the man to become more detailed.

"And what is this spell I'm supposed to be under?" Arthur asked, smiling at the knights beside him.

He was slightly troubled to notice that Gwaine was the only one smiling back, and even his smile seemed a bit guarded – if only because he kept one eye on Hector. Arthur felt his stomach drop as he remembered the hunch he'd had before, that perhaps Hector had seen through Arthur's feelings for Merlin and would use that against him. But if he had, he was saving that weapon for later.

"It is felt that you have not been acting like yourself lately. That you have been ... letting things pass. People fear that your decisions are someone else's. That your thoughts are being altered by magic."

Well, the best way to face a claim that was so hard to disprove was to point out that it was equally hard to prove.

"Of course I'll banish him," Arthur said, and Hector actually looked a bit taken aback. "If you can provide proof that I'm under such a spell, I'll send him out of Camelot head first.

Arthur felt like grinning at the annoyed face Hector made, but refrained.

"You misunderstand my point, sire. It would indeed be a terrible thing for all of Camelot if there were such a spell. But as I said, the rumour of it is certainly in and of itself enough to take the throne away from you."

"And who will take it, Sir Hector? You?"

Now it was the knights sitting next to Hector who began to look doubtfully at their leader, and Arthur thought for one triumphant moment that this was going to be a lot easier than he thought. After all, ambition can attract people, but a man who has too much of it is repellent; say what you will about the instincts of the people, but they can smell a beheading waiting to happen a mile away, and it is rarely something they want to be associated with.

"My Lord, you insult me," Hector rallied. "I would rather die than see the throne unjustly taken from the rightful king. But I'm sure there are several people who are of a different mind."

"So you are suggesting that the King should base his decisions on the people's gossip?" Leon asked.

It was nice to hear another voice than Hector's.

"Don't be silly, Leon," Gwaine chimed in, "Sir Hector wants the King to base his decisions on _him_."

This time Arthur couldn't keep from smiling. He had never been so glad that he had managed to keep Gwaine's support.

Hector seemed about to reply to the knight's snide remark when the door opened once again and Merlin came in. The room fell silent. Arthur could tell from Merlin's expression as he looked around the room that he immediately realised that they had been talking about him. But when he opened his mouth, it was to say:

"I'm sorry I'm a bit late. What have you been talking about?"

Arthur looked at Hector, silently asking if he had the balls to repeat his accusation in front of Merlin. The knight he had brought with him faltered. Those who had not found a chair took a few steps back from where Merlin was standing. Even Percival looked a bit nervous when he glanced at the sorcerer. Arthur was not surprised that there were people who were scared of Merlin. He was sure some of them even had reason to. Hector was one of them, but he seemed to be the last person to realise this. For better or for worse, he stood his ground.

"I was only warning the King and his council about the people's fear of you," he said.

Merlin raised an eyebrow.

"The people fear me?"

"Yes, I'm afraid they do. They fear that you are the one pulling the strings in the court of Camelot."

Merlin smiled, in a way that would have looked kind and mild to anyone who didn't know him.

"Don't you think I would have spent considerably less time in the stocks over the years if that was true?"

The knights who had been around during Merlin's first years in Camelot smiled at that. Even some of Hector's allies seemed to appreciate the point.

"Yet, you don't seem to do so anymore," Hector insisted.

"I should hope not," Merlin said. "I had to learn from my mistakes sometime, didn't I?"

It was interesting, Arthur thought, to watch Merlin bicker with someone other than him. It made him realise what a routine they had created over the years; whether it was friendly banter or annoyed snapping, they would always have an answer for any remark the other dished out. They were – with a few crucial exceptions –on the same page.

Hector, however, was in another book altogether.

"_Master Merlin,_" he said – he looked like smoke was about to come out of his ears, and Arthur was struck once again by the thought that this man seemed to have a very hard time dealing with the fact that there were people who were younger than him who were far more powerful than him – "Master Merlin, I believe you're trying to make light of this problem, and I believe you are aware that it_ is _a problem, and several of the knights of Camelot have agreed that the only possible solution to this problem is that either you or the king prove these theories wrong, once _and for all_."

"Sure, gladly. And how do you propose that we do that?" Merlin said, quickly putting his finger on the same weak point that Arthur had spotted, but this time Arthur saw that it had been the answer that Hector wanted. The man_ smirked_ as Merlin continued: "Do you want to search my room, read my books? Go ahead, knock yourselves out!"

"It has occurred to us that it's a hard thing to prove or disprove," Hector admitted, still smiling slightly.

"I'm not surprised," Merlin and Arthur said simultaneously, and then looked at each other, startled.

"But if you want to prove that you are as ... _benignant_ as you claim to be," Hector continued, "you can do so in one very simple way: byleaving Camelot."

Arthur wanted to speak up, protest, but he saw just by the way Merlin carried himself that he was going to fight this fight himself. Merlin looked at him for one more second, and they didn't need words for Arthur to know what Merlin was thinking:

_I'm going to stop playing games now. _

Merlin turned back to Hector and said, sternly:

"Not in a million years."

"And why is that?"

"For a start, I have nowhere else to go," Merlin said.

"I could offer to give you two hundred gold coins if you left and never came back."

Even Arthur's eyes widened at that. That was twice the reward of the ten-year tournament. But Merlin was not fazed. Merlin was _insulted_. There was a shadow moving behind his eyes that reminded Arthur of when every item in Merlin's room had been flying through the air, circling around him in a whirlwind like a flock of angry birds.

"And left you in my place?" Merlin said.

And it was then, before Hector could speak, that the door opened and a guard walked in, clearing his throat.

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"Come out of there, traitor," another voice called from outside the door, and Lancelot recognised it as belonging to Sir Mador. "Come out and fight, if you have anything left resembling honour."

Lancelot felt his skin crawl at those words.

"Are there any weapons in here?" he asked, looking for one as he said it.

Gwen stared at him.

"You can't fight them! You don't even know how many they are out there! And if you got past them, then where would you go?"

He looked down at her. He knew she was right. And yet ...

"If I left, would you come with me?"

He couldn't believe he was asking her this. She was the Queen. He couldn't just whisk here away from the court.

She was quiet for a moment, and Lancelot saw tears in her eyes.

"Yes," she said finally, in a surprisingly steady voice. "Yes, I would."

There was another round of banging on the door.

"You can't run, Sir Lancelot. You have nowhere to go but past us. Give up and come out with your tail between your legs, and we'll let you live to explain yourself to your _king_."

"A moment ago he said he'd fight you," Gwen murmured. "I wish he'd make up his mind."

The only weapon in the room was a sword that hung over the mantelpiece. They both looked at it.

"It wouldn't do much good without armour," Lancelot said.

"Is there nothing we can do?" Gwen asked.

She slipped her hand into his. He held it like an anchor.

"I could lure one of them in, kill him and take his armour."

Gwen gave him another disbelieving stare.

"I would for you," he assured her.

She shook her head slowly.

"Please don't."

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It really shouldn't have come as a surprise, but in the end, it had. As the guard reported that a small number of knights were standing outside the royal bedchambers, that Sir Lancelot and the Queen was inside, and that there really could be no question that this was a case of high treason, Arthur was dumbstruck. Fortunately, so was everyone else in the room, even, wonder of all wonders, Merlin.

_Now? _Arthur thought. _Right now? In broad bloody daylight?_

The ghost of jealousy stirred within him, and a slightly stronger anger that they would be selfish enough to do this, not just to him but to Camelot. But what really took over his body, made him sag in his chair, was frustration, disappointment and a soul deep weariness. He looked at Hector. Had he known that this would happen, today of all days, or did the man just have the luck of the devil?

"It seems you are surrounded by enemies, sire," Hector said.

"Yes," Arthur agreed whole-heartedly, "it does indeed."

Over by the door, the guard squirmed and looked as if he would rather be stuck in a pit of snakes than in his current position.

"Should I tell the knights to break through the door and bring the traitors here, Your Majesty?" he asked.

Arthur sighed and stood up.

"No, we'll just go with you."

He turned to his second in command.

"Leon, I want you to send Sir Elyan away on a mission."

Leon looked a bit confused.

"What mission?"

"I'm sure you can think something up," Arthur said, and then added, a bit under his breath: "This will be ugly enough as it is."

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As Lancelot reached for the door handle, Gwen said:

"What do you think they'll do when we walk out?"

He hesitated, and Gwen wondered if he was thinking it over, or if he was simply unsure of how brutally honest he wanted to be.

"Keep insulting us until they have brought us to see Arthur, I expect," he said.

"They could kill us right now, couldn't they?" Gwen said, and shuddered. "They've caught us red-handed, or they think they have. They have the right."

It was utterly unfair, of course, that they were with all probability about to be killed for something they had not actually done, even if they had perhaps wanted to do it. But Gwen couldn't muster up the energy to be angry, or offended. She felt as if she had seen this coming for years, instead of less than an hour. She thought about Morgana's letter. The honey-soft voice that had echoed in her ears. The knights outside were not the enemy – they were only tools.

"They have the right to kill _me_," Lancelot said, "but not you. A Queen has a right to a trial."

Did he expect that to make her feel better?

"So you'll be killed, and I'll be burnt at the stake later?"

He looked down at her and said with a tone of absolute confidence:

"Arthur won't let that happen to you."

She wanted to believe that as much as he did, but she had not forgotten the way Merlin's face had looked as the whip had hit his back, and she didn't think she ever would. She didn't believe Arthur would throw her on the pyre, but she was not sure he would stop those knights on the other side of the door from doing so. She looked into Lancelot's trusting brown eyes, and for the first time she wished he was not quite so noble, or quite so loyal.

"How can you be so sure?"

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"You don't have to accompany us, sir Hector," Arthur said. "After all, this situation is unrelated to your ... complaint."

"I disagree, My Lord," Hector said as they moved towards the doors. "The situations are closely related, because the people involved are. Sir Lancelot knew you had a sorcerer in your court and did not tell you. That warranted banishment at the very least, not two or three nights in the dungeons. And your refusal to deal with the rumours of him and the Queen is one of the things people believe is ..."

Hector trailed off when Merlin approached them, but Arthur could hear the end of the sentence in his head: "Merlin's influence."

They all walked out into the hallway and began the walk towards the royal chambers. Merlin walked up to Arthur's side, and said quietly:

"You can't let Gwen be put on trial for high treason. She'll be sentenced to death! It's the only punishment for any member of the court, and definitely for a queen. And if you keep tweaking the laws ..."

Arthur saw Hector turn around and glance at them, and in an instant he knew what he had to do. But it was a plan that relied on a couple of people trusting him more than he might have the right to ask of them just now.

"Merlin," he said, "I want you to go to your room."

Merlin looked at him with a blank expression, like Arthur had uttered an incomplete sentence and he expected something more.

"You're biased."

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur could see Hector's face contort in thought, as though he didn't know whether to be pleased that Arthur was taking the issue into consideration or displeased that he was not providing Hector with further evidence that Merlin was somehow controlling the proceedings.

"Aren't _you_?" Merlin asked, giving Arthur a look that said he knew Arthur was up to something, but not what.

"I'm the King," Arthur said, "it doesn't matter if I'm biased. I'll do what I have to do, for the best of Camelot. You've been a friend to both Lancelot and Guinevere. You shouldn't be here for this."

Merlin seemed to hesitate. Arthur thought frantically of how he could make him understand. Hector used the moment of silence to interrupt.

"Is he not just as able to intervene if you leave him alone, Sire?" he asked.

"Would it put your mind at rest, Sir Hector, if I put guards at his door?" Arthur said.

"It would be a start," Hector conceded.

"You," Arthur said, pointing at the guard who had brought the message, "and you," nodding at Sir Bors, whom he knew Hector trusted, "escort Merlin to his room and make sure he stays there until you're told otherwise."

The guard and the knight looked at Arthur, then at Merlin, and then at each other. Arthur tried not to turn and look at either Merlin or Gwaine, but he could imagine they were both frowning at him. And then something happened that almost made Arthur jump out of his boots, and he was proud, later, that that he had the presence of mind not to stare, or gasp or make any sound at all.

It was Merlin's voice, echoing from inside his own head and from all sides at once, even though the man himself had not opened his lips. It was loud and rich and it was quite obvious that no one else had heard it.

_Care to explain what you think you're doing? _it asked.

Arthur might have been able to keep himself from answering out loud, or showing to the people around him how the eerie experience had sent his heart racing; but even so, he didn't know how Merlin expected him to answer.

So he turned to Hector, and said:

"There really isn't much to argue about either way. I've already warned Sir Lancelot once about what would happen if it came to this."

As he watched while Merlin allowed himself to be led away in silence, Arthur prayed he had remembered what that meant.

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When they turned the corner that allowed them to see the door of the royal chambers, Arthur and the others saw that Lancelot and Guinevere already stood in the middle of the hallway, guarded by a small group of, to Arthur's mind, unreasonably well-armed knights.

"What do you think you're doing?" he said sternly as they approached. "You don't hold the Queen at sword's point no matter what she's accused of. Show some respect."

The knights who had been holding Guinevere immediately stepped back and lowered their weapons. She looked up at Arthur and met his eyes, but Lancelot, who had also been given a bit more breathing space, looked down at the floor.

"Your Majesty," said the knight Arthur recognized as the now infamous Sir Mador, "we found this dishonourable knight in the Queen's chambers. We see no choice but to accuse them both of high treason."

Arthur nodded and the knight took a step back, leaving the space between Arthur, Guinevere and Lancelot empty. The whole group of people was silent, waiting for the King to speak. It felt as if time had ground to a halt. Arthur still looked at Guinevere, and in her eyes he thought he saw some of the same things he was feeling: regret, tiredness, and disbelief. Maybe she was asking herself, just like he was, how something that had once started out so well could be ending like this. For the first time in months, perhaps even a year, it felt as if their hearts were connected again – only to share each other's pain.

"Don't you have anything to say?" Arthur asked.

All eyes turned from him to Guinevere. He hoped she would say something, anything, to take the burden of the situation at least partially off of his shoulders. Proclaim her innocence, maybe – Arthur was far from convinced that the two of them hadn't slept together, but he was pretty sure it was not what they had been doing now – or she might be able to explain how this was all a trap, which Arthur would not doubt for a second, as neatly timed as it was, in so many ways. She could even try to escape. But is seemed the reluctance to turn this into the dramatic moment it should have been was something else they had in common.

"Only that this was never what I wanted," was all she said.

"It wasn't what I wanted, either," Arthur pointed out.

At that, she seemed embarrassed and turned her eyes down. It seemed there was nothing more to be said.

"Sir Lancelot?" Arthur said, turning to the man, if for no other reason than to give them both an equal chance to speak up for themselves.

"I don't care what happens to me," Lancelot said, and Arthur knew all too well that it wasn't posturing or pretence. "But the Queen is innocent."

Arthur shook his head, not because he didn't believe Lancelot, but because his plea was pointless.

"Lancelot, I have trusted you like a brother. And I still believe you are a better man than most of us who are standing here. But the time has come for you to leave Camelot. You are banished henceforth, to return on pain of death."

At this, Lancelot finally looked up, surprised.

But Arthur pretended not to notice and turned to the knights and guards holding the two lovers.

"The Queen will have her trial at noon tomorrow the courtyard, as tradition commands."

"Sire, I beseech you ..." Lancelot tried, clearly aware of what such a trial meant.

"Take her to the dungeons overnight," Arthur continued.

"You don't have to do this," Guinevere said, calmly.

"And take Sir Lancelot to his room, make sure he gathers his things and leaves as quickly as possible. Now."

The next moment, Lancelot and Guinevere were being hauled off in different directions. Arthur watched as they turned in the guards' grips to look at each other, and was reminded of the time, years ago, when his father had been convinced that Guinevere had enchanted him, and had her dragged to the dungeons while the guards held Arthur back. He remembered the kiss they'd managed to steal in front of the whole room, the one he had thought would be their last. Now, guards were no longer needed. His responsibilities and his disillusionment were more than enough to keep him rooted to the spot as the woman who had become his wife and the man who had become his brother were both dragged out of his view and ultimately out of his life.

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"What a spectacle," Hector declared behind Arthur's back.

"Shut up," came Gwaine's voice. It was uncharacteristically quiet.

"I'll have to think of something to say to Elyan," Arthur said. "I'd really rather not lose two knights at once. "

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll figure it out," Gwaine said.

Arthur was reminded of the bridge keeper of the perilous lands who had, apparently, named Gwaine Strength. Maybe the word suited him in more aspects than one.

IYîYîYîYI

As Lancelot was being led towards the city gates, he thought about what few options he had, and which options he might already have wasted. He wondered if he should have said something more. If he should have fought, with words or with weapons.

The other knights had made fun of Lancelot sometimes, both behind his back and to his face, for his high principles, for how proper he was, for how he was always ready to see the best in everyone, for being naive. Maybe they had been right, too; maybe he was naive. He could take the jibes. He wasn't ashamed of believing in those things.

But no one had made fun of him the day Arthur and Gwen got married. No one had said a word to him the day when Arthur had placed a crown on her head and kissed her in front of the whole court. He had not said a word either. She had deserved it – the honour, the life, the love of the people, and above all the happiness. And so had Arthur.

Gwaine had dragged him away from the banquet that evening, down to the nearest tavern. He had not even asked whether Lancelot wanted to go or not, he had just grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the room. A night at the tavern was Gwaine's kind of solution, of course, not Lancelot's. He had barely looked up from the table all evening. But he had gotten drunk, and he had fallen asleep, and in the morning the headache had blocked out that stubborn feeling that he had just made a horrible, horrible mistake.

Now that feeling had returned with a vengeance, and this time it would not go away. The disappointment in Arthur's eyes haunted him as well as the fear in Gwen's. He might be naive, but he believed with all his heart that there had to be a better ending to their story than this.

IYîYîYîYI


	55. The Trial of Queen Guinevere

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"_This is the way that we love  
>Like it's forever<br>Then live the rest of our lives  
>But not together"<em>

- Mika_, Happy Ending_

IYîYîYîYI

**The Trial of Queen Guinevere**

There was, actually, a tradition that dictated that any prominent member of court who was accused of high treason should have their trial held on the courtyard. The point of this tradition was that if the person was found guilty, they could be executed immediately, in front of the people who had ordered it, without any unnecessary delays or chances to escape.

A trial of this kind was a rare occurrence in Camelot. Disputes between citizens were, when needed, settled by a member of council, or in some exceptional cases by the King himself. Smaller crimes were usually punished as soon as the culprits were apprehended, and they were sent to the stocks or, if a more severe punishment was called for, flogged. Trials, in any form, were reserved for very special crimes or very special people, and even then they were no guarantee that there would be fairness and justice. Arthur remembered his father's words when Morgana had tried to guarantee a trial for that forest rebel of hers – it was so long ago now, Arthur could hardly remember what he had looked like, even less what his name had been, but he remembered Uther's words – "Of course he'll have a trial. And he'll be found guilty, because that's what he is." That was how justice worked in Camelot: by the word of the king. It was the way it had been under his father's reign. It was the way it would be now, no matter if some people thought differently.

It was tempting to go and hide in his room until the trial, but it would probably look bad, look irresponsible. So he went to the throne room, and sat down. It was his chair, after all. No one entered for a long time, so he was left alone with his thoughts.

He had bought himself rather a lot of time, setting the trial at noon tomorrow. He felt guilty about how he'd sent Merlin away without explanation and wished he could give him a message, but he knew that would be both stupid and unnecessary, so he waited in silence. Explaining himself to Merlin could wait until tomorrow. It would have to.

He wondered what Guinevere was thinking at the moment. He hoped she was feeling confident of some form of rescue. It was horrible to think of her sitting down there thinking she had barely a day left to live. Or she could be hoping that she'd have a fair trial and be found innocent and all would be well, he told himself. But no. She wasn't that naive.

He would have to go down and see her. He didn't trust himself to do it right away – he wanted to decide exactly what he was going to tell her before he approached her, he shouldn't say too little, he shouldn't say too much – but before the day was over he would have to down there. It was his last chance to say goodbye. And then he would be alone. He would go to bed alone tonight, and again tomorrow night, and the night after that. After days of exhausting negotiations or in times of crisis, he would go to sleep with his worries in an empty bed in a big, empty room. After days of triumph, his celebration would end in climbing in between cold sheets alone. It was a gloomy prospect.

He would not be alone when it came to ruling the country – he would keep Merlin by his side no matter what people like Hector said. Those voices would die out sooner or later, if he and Merlin played their cards right. They had to. But Merlin was so different from Guinevere, in nearly every way. Most of all, Merlin was dangerous. Dangerous because he was a powerful sorcerer, yes, but in so many other ways too. It had been safe to fall in love with Guinevere. There had been difficulties, sure, but no one had questioned his sanity or, with that one notable exception, that she hadn't cast a spell on him. There had been some controversy when he had made her queen, but it had been trite and predictable and not lasted very long. She made people love her. She was, for better and for worse, very good at that. So, despite all those things, Guinevere was safe. Falling in love with her had meant quiet evenings, warm smiles, soft kisses. She brought out a gentler, calmer side of him. Falling in love with Merlin was something else entirely. It was secrets, and pain, and fire. It was not just other people doubting his sanity, but himself doubting it as well. It was dreams of stolen touches and passionate kisses returned in the dark. It was fear of rejection and loss. It was the desire for things forbidden and unreachable. Merlin might be good at bringing out Arthur's good sides at times, but being in love with him had only brought out the nagging little creature inside Arthur's guts, and frustration, anger, jealousy and bitterness. Loving Merlin was not something that fitted into Arthur's life and his duties. It was real. It was standing at a ledge. It was deciding whether or not he would sit down at a gambling table where he would have to bet his soul.

The irony of course was that he had never made that decision. He had gotten drunk, and made an ass of himself, and then Merlin's secret had been revealed, and they had both made asses of themselves. And now, Arthur found, his soul was already on the table, and he had not even learnt the rules of the game yet. It had looked like a game of chance to begin with, but he was beginning to suspect it had turned into something more like chess.

It had almost begun to darken by the time he stood up, shaking thoughts of Merlin out of his head. He needed a messenger. It had to be someone both inconspicuous and trustworthy, which narrowed the number down considerably these days. It would have to be the boy, Wart. Call it a nostalgic fondness for clumsy servant boys, but if there was one thing it was Arthur had learnt it was that unassuming, seemingly incompetent servants often were far more loyal than those who clamoured for his attention. He had not known Wart for long, but he had seen enough to tell him that if the King told Wart to be quiet about, say, leading a horse out of Camelot at a strange hour, the boy would take it to his grave out of pure awe.

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It wasn't the first time Gwen had the questionable honour of seeing one of the dungeon cells from the inside, but it was her first time as Queen of Camelot – and as a supposed adulteress. The guards seemed unsure whether they were supposed to show her respect or reproach. They had given her a few blankets to sit on, and to sleep on when night came, but then they had proceeded to stare at her in silence from their little table. She closed her eyes and focused on the chill of the stone wall behind her back, trying not to think about what her father would say if he were alive to see this – trying not to be grateful that he wasn't.

She didn't know how long she had sat like that before Arthur showed up. It could have been a hundred seconds, or a hundred years. He gestured to the guards to let him in. He looked around the cell and Gwen recalled that it wasn't the first time he'd been in one of them, either.

"Have you come to break me out?" she asked, half-joking, half desperately earnest.

He shook his head.

"I'm here to say goodbye."

Something inside her cracked and fell apart.

"Arthur, I'm sorry."

"So am I. But here we are."

"Arthur, you can't do it. You can't let them kill me. After all you've been through with Merlin ..."

He simply shook his head a second time.

"We both knew it, didn't we, that it would end like this? But I was so stubborn. And you are just as stubborn as me. That's one of the things that made me fall in love with you."

She wondered if she was crying.

"I'm sorry it has to be like this," he continued, "but there's nothing else I can do."

He leaned forward. His kisses had always sent her hear racing, but not like this – not in fear of death. Certainly not in fear of her own. It left her speechless. He gave her an apologetic look before he stepped out of the cell.

"Goodbye Guinevere."

He left the way he had come, and when he was gone, the cell felt even colder than before. Gwen sank back down to the floor in a daze. A thousand things she should have said came to mind. Things that might have changed his mind, like flattery, or begging, or trying to explain about the letter from Morgana – and things that she simply wanted to say if that had really been their last conversation, like "I love you" and "you must believe that I never slept with him" and "I can't believe you're doing this to me."

But it was foolish to think of these things. It wouldn't really have made a difference. Not now.

She had thought he needed her, she had thought he needed her love and advice, that he had needed her by his side. He had believed it too. He was right, they had both been stubborn, and they had both deceived themselves.

She thought about his face and his tone and told herself that his appearance had not been that of a man about to have his wife executed. She told herself that he would have someone break her out – Merlin, maybe, or someone else who wasn't already in trouble. Several people had escaped from these dungeons over the years, even if they seemed impenetrable to her now. He might even come back himself.

But he had said goodbye in a very final way, and as the night fell and light drained away from her surroundings she only dared to hope with half her heart that he would help her escape in the safety of darkness. As the night progressed and no help came, her hope took the form of Lancelot instead. He had been sent away, and she knew he had small chances of being able to save her. But he wouldn't leave her. He would never.

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin sat down on his bed. He stood up and walked around the room. He sat down again. He walked over to the window. He itched to get out of there. He wanted to see what Arthur was up to. He wanted to solve this, to help Gwen and Lancelot, and he really, really wanted to make toads jump out of Sir Hector's mouth. Or give him boils. Or just punch him in the face, no magic used – it was that bad.

He sat down again. It was no good pondering courses of action. The only course of action was to stay where he was. Sure, there was a risk that Arthur had gone off his head again and would let his friends be killed. But Merlin doubted it. And if he had understood Arthur's little hint right (if it had been a hint and not just Arthur talking to Hector), Arthur had tried to remind him of the time so long ago it felt like another life when Arthur had told Lancelot that ... what had he said? Something along the lines of "if that happens neither of you can return to Camelot". Merlin couldn't quite remember, but he was sure that had been the gist. So he had at least some reason to believe that Arthur had a plan, and that the plan included Gwen and Lancelot leaving Camelot. He couldn't forget that Arthur had clearly been against it when Merlin had suggested it earlier, but on the other hand he had used the argument that he didn't want Gwen and Lancelot to look like traitors, and now they already did.

How an escape was supposed to work, however, Merlin had no idea, and when he looked down at the courtyard from his window he saw a familiar kind of stage being set up in the courtyard.

He could get out through that window. If he really wanted, he was sure he could float himself safely down to the ground without so much a piece of rope. He felt that he should. He felt, urgently, that he could well be all that stood between his friends and death. It was so easy, to open those dungeons, and so hard to sit here and twiddle his thumbs.

But if Arthur had a plan, Merlin barging in at this point was bound to spoil it utterly and unquestionably. Instead of being the one to save his friends he might end up being the one to condemn them. And Hector would get that much more support for his argument. Unless he killed Hector. It wouldn't be hard, after all.

When he realised what he was thinking, Merlin froze, feeling slightly sick. The ease with which the idea of murder had entered his mind made him return to the bed, lie down and fold his arms across his chest, finally absolutely determined not to interfere. He would have to trust that Arthur had a good plan – if for no other reason than that Merlin didn't have one at all.

IYîYîYîYI

Lancelot had come to Camelot with nothing, and now he left with nothing. The guards had not even let him have his sword. All he carried with him was a change of clothes, a flask of water, a knife to fend for himself with, and a piece of paper that said he was Sir Lancelot, knight of Camelot. He was no such thing anymore, of course, but when he'd seen the paper lying there he hadn't had the heart to leave it behind.

He couldn't leave Gwen where she was. He had realised this before he had walked two miles. He might not believe that Arthur would have her killed, but he didn't believe he'd take her back either. But what was he going to do? He couldn't very well break into Camelot with nothing but a knife. He was headed for the nearest village, but how much help he could get there without money or anything to trade was doubtful. He was almost sleepwalking, stuck halfway between the urge to turn back and the impulse to run ahead.

As evening sank down over him, he felt as if he was waking up. He had just decided that he would attempt to get a horse at the village, and a sword, and then turn back whether he got it or not, when, as if his thoughts had taken physical form, he heard a horse neigh further up the road. He raised his head to see a boy standing under a tree, holding a horse with fully loaded saddlebags, and looking straight at him.

"Good evening, Sir Lancelot," the boy said.

"Good evening," Lancelot replied.

He studied the boy. He was scrawny and spotty, and there was something familiar about him.

"I'm afraid I don't know who you are," he admitted.

The boy looked as if he had not expected anything else.

"I'm called Wart, sir. I work in the castle."

"And you're on your way there now?" Lancelot asked.

_That would explain why he is still calling me Sir Lancelot_, he thought._ And why I haven't seen him ride past._

"No, sir," the boy said. "I just came from there. I took a shortcut to catch up with you. My master wanted you to have this."

He gestured at the horse. Lancelot looked at it. It wasn't the one he'd used to ride, but it was a fine animal, a grey. Tied to one of the saddlebags was a sword. He could tell from the hilt that it was not his either, but he would bet that it was the size and weight he was used to.

"And who would your master be?" he asked.

Lancelot's first thought was Merlin, but no, that wasn't right. Merlin would have come himself, or if he could not, he would still not need a messenger. So unless Gwen had managed to get a message out...

"I'm not allowed to say, sir," Wart replied.

Lancelot nodded. He had suspected as much.

"What's in the saddlebags?" he asked.

The saddlebags contained a complete set of armour – again, not Lancelot's own but something nondescript in his size. He supposed it would have been conspicuous if all the things that had been his had suddenly disappeared. There was a shield, too, and for a moment Lancelot stood looking at the blank white surface where there should have been the red and gold emblem of the Pendragons. By the handle, hidden from view, a tattered piece of white cloth was tied. Lancelot touched it. He'd never seen it before, but something told him without a doubt that it had belonged to Gwen. For a moment his conviction about the identity of his benefactor wavered.

"Is this a message?" he asked Wart.

The boy shrugged.

"I wasn't told, sir."

"You don't have to call me 'sir'. I'm not a knight of the round table anymore," he said, throwing another glance at the blank shield.

"You're still a knight though, sir," Wart said.

Lancelot looked at the horse and the saddlebags, which had contained no message.

"I suppose I am." He turned to wart. "Tell your master ..." he trailed off. He thought of Gwen's words to Arthur, the apology, the guarantee that she had never had bad intentions. He thought better of repeating such words.

"Tell him I said my piece the first time we sat at that table, that I never stopped believing in those words, and that this proves me right. No matter what posterity will say of either of us."

IYîYîYîYI

The next morning came with a bright sun and a cold wind. Arthur was standing on the courtyard, watching the preparations, when he noticed a tall, red-haired man near him doing the same thing. Kay, the hangman. Arthur found himself walking up to him.

"If you want to find someone else to do this, everyone will understand perfectly," he said.

The man jumped at being addressed by the King, and bowed when he had gathered his wits about him.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but I'm not sure what you mean."

Arthur gestured at the people running around.

"I understand that you knew the Queen when she was a little girl. Your task must be a tarrying enough without knowing the persons who are sent to you."

Kay nodded stoically.

"I'm afraid it is a task one gets used to, more than one would like, Your Majesty."

"I find that hard to believe. I've killed my fair share of men in battle. I'm not afraid to admit to a man like you that sometimes, they come back to haunt me in my dreams."

Kay nodded again.

"It's the one's you're not sure you had the right to kill."

The hangman suddenly paled as he caught himself.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, I did not mean to suggest ..."

"It's alright," Arthur interrupted assuringly. "You're right."

Someone called out loudly from the other side of the courtyard and a few big logs of timbre crashed down onto the cobbled stones from a wagon. There was a brief commotion that caught their attention for a moment and allowed them to leave that line of thought. Though, not completely.

"I know it because I saw what it did with my father," Kay said. "He worked during the Great Purge. For a time had to execute women and youngsters daily. Even children. People who might only have been suspected of having hidden someone. There were no trials held, no witnesses were questioned." He paused. "A hangman must assume that the people he executes are guilty, or he will go insane. But during that time ... It was the women and children, you see. He got nightmares. He never became the same again. There will be times when someone you know is sent to you, and that is hard to bear, but at least when that happens, I can assume that it is because of something they have actually done. When Your Majesty changed the law on magic, I went to my father's grave and told him about it. I told him that no one would ever ask me to execute a child. I will be eternally grateful for that."

Arthur didn't know what to say about that. He felt the criticism of his father and the praise of himself in equal measure, and hoped the latter was as fair and deserved as the former.

"The profession runs in the family?" he asked instead of answering.

"It always does," Kay said, and smiled for the first time, a tired but true smile. "I wanted to be a knight, or at least a squire. But no one would take on the hangman's son as an apprentice. I was a walking reminder of my father's axe. Now I hold the axe. No one likes the hangman. He's Death."

They fell silent again. In opposite of what Kay had just claimed, Arthur found that he liked the quiet company of this man. It soothed him. He would have made an excellent addition to the Knights of Camelot on account of temperament alone.

"My father's final execution was that of Tom the Blacksmith," Kay said suddenly, surprising Arthur. "I suppose there is some sort of sense in that I should be the one to execute his daughter."

Perhaps because he sensed that this man was honest and trustworthy, or perhaps just because it didn't matter very much and he wanted to do the man a kindness, Arthur said:

"That is not settled yet. The trial doesn't have to end with execution."

For a moment Kay looked like he was about to disagree, but then their eyes met and it seemed he thought better of it. Arthur wondered if he had seen that Arthur meant it, or simply decided it was never wise to argue with a king.

IYîYîYîYI

By the time the guards came to get her, Gwen's fear had long since been replaced by hollow apathy. She had thought through each possible way she could attempt to rescue herself, and she predicted she could probably get as far as to the lower town, even defend herself against the guards for a while, but each scenario ended with her getting apprehended and brought back in chains. After hours of frantic searching for a plan she had admitted defeat. She cut off the part of her that was still a blacksmith's daughter, fretful and angry, and instead she drew herself up to her full height and became The Queen of Camelot. She followed the guards with her hands free at her side and her chin high.

They brought her up to an elevated area in the middle of the courtyard. The first thing she saw was Arthur, sitting in front of her in a booth that looked like the one used at tournaments. People were seated to the right and left of him and Gwen knew they were people she knew, people she ought to recognise, but their faces didn't register with her now. When the two guards next to her tore of her dress, leaving her in her undergarments (which still outdid everything she had worn before marrying Arthur) she thought she saw a look of pain flick across Arthur's face, but she didn't even flinch at the treatment. The booming voice of the town crier called out her name, and the crowd that had gathered fell silent. All those eyes looking at her, hungry for drama and blood, or horrified of what their gossip had led up to. Let them take their fill. She didn't care. She felt the sunshine on her face. She felt the wind rustling in her skirts. She felt so overwhelmingly alive that, paradoxically, it felt more natural than ever to her that life was only a temporary state. It was too intense to last.

Time passed as slow as syrup, and it seemed strange beyond belief that the town crier was still carrying on when the clanging of metal and the sound of raised voices reached Gwen's ears. She began to rise slowly out of her deep daze. Then, the town crier stopped himself and stared over her shoulder, and she turned around.

From the direction of the main gates, a knight rode through the crowd, and the crowd parted in front of him like water. Gwen's heartbeat went from lethargically slow to a furious pace. She couldn't see who it was, but she didn't have to. Far from someone who had stopped caring whether or not she lived or died, relief and gratitude now washed over her like a warm wave. The sharp sound of metal against metal cut through the air that separated them like lifelines being thrown towards her.

Somewhere someone cried out: "Stop him!"

The cry shook Gwen the remaining way out of her half-sleep. The world kicked back into full speed, with loud sound and vivid colour, and with it, fear also returned. She saw guards and knights disengage themselves from the crowd and make their way towards Lancelot, and wanted to scream. The guards next to her gaped. She threw a glance at Arthur. His hands had clenched around the armrests, but he remained silent and motionless as people began to stir around him. For a moment, the guilt that hit her at the sight of him took her breath away. Then she blinked, and remembered the urgency of the moment. She turned back around.

Lancelot was already close enough that Gwen could see his face clearly when he opened the visor, and charging towards her at full speed. He leant down and reached out his hand. She could count the seconds before their hands connected: one – people were screaming around her – two – the guard next to her tried to pull her away – three – she put an elbow in his eye – four.

Before she knew it, she was flying through the air, half pulled by him, half throwing herself onto the horse as if she'd been doing nothing else all her life. The upset voices around them united in one horrified scream.

Later, she would think of the people she'd left behind, of the look in Arthur's eyes the last time she saw them, of never knowing for sure what he had truly meant down in the dungeons, and of never getting to tell Merlin about Morgana's message. She would think about Elyan, wonder where he'd been and how he'd react when he heard. She would think about her father's grave that she would never visit again, and how close she had been to ending up in a grave of her own. Now, she could only think of how much she wanted to get as far away from here as possible.

IYîYîYîYI

As Gwen quickly settled on the horse in front of him, Lancelot took a last look at Arthur. He was seated on the small stage that was covered in red cloth; he wore shining chainmail, a crimson mantle and the golden crown, and was flanked on both sides by knights and council members. The Pendragon shield of arms hung off the castle wall behind him, the golden dragon on the banner looking more majestic than ever. Sunlight shone down on the scene, glittering in the metal, making the red nuances deeper and more vivid, like blood. The whole scene reminded Lancelot of tapestries of the Old Kings: mighty men, timeless, larger than life. Men who could spawn legends that would live for centuries. Men who could _become_ legends. Lancelot would have been proud to serve a king like that until the day he died. Now it seemed this would be the last service he did him.

He didn't nod at Arthur, careful not to let anyone else think what he now knew – that this was all part of Arthur's plan – but he met the other man's eyes. Arthur made no sign of being pleased or triumphant, and Lancelot supposed he didn't have much reason to, plan or no plan. But his grip on the armrests relaxed. Justice had been served – not the justice of written laws of Camelot, but the justice of the word of the King.

Guards were approaching, and Lancelot turned the horse around. The crowd split before them as they charged back across the courtyard toward the gates. He managed to get them to the castle walls without having to wound any of his fellow knights, but when they got as far as the gates, he saw a young guard trying to haul up the drawbridge. There was only one thing he could do. He sheathed his sword, pulled out his knife and threw it. He would have liked to aim at the man's hand, but knew it was too risky from that distance. The man fell when he was hit, and they rode out of the gates, over the drawbridge.

IYîYîYîYI

Belatedly, after a few cries, Lancelot heard an arrow or two rush through the air behind them, but the guards on the wall had taken too long to realise what was going on below; they were already out of reach, and soon they were out of sight, tearing through the woods at high pace. They rode in silence, even when he thought he felt Gwen sobbing in his arms. They slept under the stars that night, and in the morning they continued, further and further away from Camelot.

IYîYîYîYI

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Ta daa! Back again!**

_**I am looking for a BETA**_ _for a one-shot __**Lewis-fanfic**__ (light slash, nothing even remotely graphic). It's like the most narrow ship of the most narrow fandom ever, but if anyone here would like to give it a read-through, that would be awesome. _

_**I would also love a BETA**__ for a one-shot __**Neverwhere-**__fic, gen, some pre-slash if you squint. Give me a shout if you're interested._

_Thank you._


	56. The Ones Who Remain

IYîYîYîYI

"_Prepare to reign  
>no more to hide<br>With I, your faithful consort,  
>by your side"<em>

- Rufus Wainwright,_ The Consort_

IYîYîYîYI

**The Ones Who Remain**

With his window open, Merlin could hear the scene below turn chaotic. He didn't dare to go up to the window and look out. If anyone saw him, they might think he was behind whatever it was that was going on. He heard well enough from where he was perched on his bed, eating an apple that had been brought up to him along with the breakfast much earlier. He heard the town crier begin to announce the accusations against the Queen, and he heard him get interrupted by shouts and clanging metal. He heard the sound of one lone horse careening over the flagstones. He heard the crowd grow silent and the guards turn loud. Orders were shouted across the square. Arthur was not shouting, he noted. He might be giving quiet orders that Merlin could not hear from up here, but he was not shouting. That was a good sign. Then the sound of hooves was disappearing up once more, and the calls and shouts followed behind them.

Merlin didn't know exactly what all this meant, but he could guess.

He had to wait a while longer still before he finally heard the guards outside the door walking away. Someone knocked, and without waiting for an answer Arthur stepped in.

Merlin looked up from a book – he hardly knew which one it was, he had done nothing but stared at the same page for a long time – and slammed it shut.

"The traitors got away, did they?" Merlin asked, choosing his words deliberately to try to gauge Arthur's reaction, and keeping his tone light and vague for the same purpose.

"I suppose they did," Arthur said.

Merlin thought he looked tired.

"So how did that happen?"

"Can I sit down?" Arthur asked, sounding, for a moment, very old.

Merlin sat up properly on the bed, leaving room beside him.

"Sure."

Arthur pulled out a chair. Merlin almost felt disappointed.

Arthur sighed.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to say goodbye, Merlin," he said.

"Did you?" Merlin asked.

Arthur didn't reply to that.

"What happened?" Merlin asked again.

Arthur sat up straight, bracing himself to tell the story.

"After I'd sent you away, I ordered that Guinevere would have her trial at noon today, and that Lancelot should be banished. But it seems Sir Lancelot found both sword, armour and horse somewhere and could return to save her before any harm could come to her."

"If he came back in armour they'll know someone was helping him," Merlin noted, adding to himself: _but their first suspect won't be you_.

It turned out he might as well have said it out loud.

"Their escape was strangely fortunate, yes, but not in any way magical. Especially not since you were here and didn't even know what was going on. Lancelot had plenty of friends. It would have been easy for any of the knights to steal Bors' armour and take it out to him. And now they're gone, and sooner or later out of sight will mean out of mind."

Arthur was looking down at the table as he talked. _And how long will it take before it's out of_ your_ mind? _Merlin wanted to ask.

"So that's what you were up to?" he said instead. "You wanted them to see that I obey you, even if I disagree with you?"

"Yes."

"But I don't."

Generally speaking, it wasn't a wise thing to say to a king, but after all these years, after these last couple of months, there was little point in being coy. They both knew it was the truth. Of course, on the other hand, here he was, so he clearly _had _obeyed – this time.

"I've noticed," Arthur said. "But they don't need to know that, do they? Come on, Merlin. You must have had brains to have hidden your secret for so long. Can't you display some political talent here?"

"If by political talent you mean holding my tongue in front of grumpy old men like Hector, sure I can. But in front of you ..."

"In front of me I wouldn't expect you to act any different than you always have. Argue with me. Question me. Call me out. Go ahead."

"And you will listen?"

"With baited breath."

"Ha ha," Merlin said, in a hollow tone but with a smile tugging at his lips.

"Maybe not," Arthur admitted. "But I _will_ listen. I need your advice Merlin, as much as I need Hector believe I can do without it."

Merlin didn't know what to reply to that. It wasn't that he was deeply surprised – not at the thought itself at least, but maybe at the fact that Arthur would speak it out loud – it was just that no answer had the graciousness to present itself to him. He looked down. He noticed that the bed was just high enough for him to dangle his legs slightly, the soles of his feet barely one inch above the floor. He hadn't noticed that before.

"Merlin?" Arthur said when the silence went on a bit too long. "Aren't you going to say something? I'm asking you to help me rule a kingdom, here."

And maybe that was why he couldn't speak. Because Arthur had just sent his Queen out of the country and now he was asking Merlin to help rule Camelot. It felt ... inappropriate.

Merlin took a breath and shook the silly notion from his head. So Arthur was asking him for help. The only new thing about that was the actual asking.

"So ..." Merlin said, "basically you are asking me to do what I already have been doing for years?"

That actually made Arthur smile. A tired, worn smile, but a smile none the less. A load that he hadn't known was there lifted slightly from Merlin's shoulders, but didn't disappear off of them. Now that he became aware of it, it felt very heavy indeed.

"Yes," Arthur said. "But with a more thankful friend, and, hopefully, a more grateful kingdom."

"It's not their gratitude I care about."

The words slipped out of Merlin's mouth without a thought, as if he was talking to himself. Arthur gave him an odd look. For a moment Merlin wondered if he'd said too much. Though too much of what, he wasn't sure.

Arthur studied him with an unreadable expression. Merlin found himself contemplating what Arthur would look like as he aged. Less and less like Ygraine, more and more like Uther, he thought. Arthur would never be the absolute likeness of his father, but there never had been and never would be any doubt about whose son _he_ was.

A knock on the door caused Merlin to jump up from the bed, as if he expected to have to fight. He had been on edge for a long time now. He had always seen enemies at every corner, but in this case he didn't have the benefit of being able to smite them down with magic and have it over with. Constantly having to hold himself at bay and wait for another solution to present itself was exhausting. Was this how Arthur felt all the time? Then he could certainly understand that it wore him down.

"Who is it?" Arthur called without moving an inch from his slumped position in the chair.

"Leon, sire," came the voice from the other side.

"Come in."

IYîYîYîYI

Leon came to tell them that Elyan had returned from whatever wild goose chase Leon had sent him on. Now he had been informed of what had happened, and wanted to talk to Arthur. He was waiting down in the council chambers.

Arthur felt like throwing his hands up in the air. There was truly no rest for the wicked, was there?

"What is he saying?" Merlin asked.

"He's wondering what happened. He's wondering why he wasn't trusted."

"Is he going to leave?" Arthur asked.

"I don't know. He hasn't said so."

Arthur sighed in temporary relief.

"He's one of the best knights Camelot has," he said as if the other two did not know this already.

"Maybe he should threaten to leave," Merlin said.

Arthur stared at him.

"What?"

"It could be the perfect reason to call off the search for Gwen and Lancelot and let them get away, it's ..." Merlin interrupted himself and glanced at Leon. "I mean, if that's what you want to do," he continued. "If Elyan were to say that he would leave Camelot unless you call off the search, no one could argue with you if you did him that favour, not even Hector. He knows as well as everyone else that we've been short on good knights for years. And you said it yourself, he's one of the best we have."

"We?" Leon asked casually.

Arthur noticed that it made Merlin jump a bit. Had he forgotten that Leon was in the room? Had he forgotten how informal he was, and how it made people react? Or was it the subtle implication in Leon's remark that made him start?

"I mean ..." Merlin began, flustered.

"Never mind _him_," Arthur said, gesturing dismissively in Leon's direction. The man raised an eyebrow but showed no sign of being offended.

"I meant we, all of us in Camelot," Merlin said, looking at Leon.

Arthur wanted to tell him that Leon already had the two of them figured out, but that wasn't quite true. What Leon thought they were, what Arthur had dreamed they'd be, wasn't what they were.

"Elyan's just one man," Arthur pointed out.

Leon cleared his throat, as if he'd suddenly become aware of being the odd man out.

"The knights wouldn't see it that way," he said. "The knights are a family. Keeping one member of that family would be far more important to most of us than catching a runaway criminal. We've just lost Lancelot, no one wouldn't want to see Elyan go. A few of the old men like Hector who have forgotten how strong those ties are, maybe, but they're few. Most of Hector's followers would stand behind you in this, not him." Leon studied him. "That is, if you want to call the search off."

What was that supposed to mean? Leon must have realised what was going on here, surely? Of course, Arthur hoped no one else had, but he had assumed Leon to be the exception.

"Of course I do," he said. "Having them brought back here in chains would only start the whole thing over again. The only reason I allowed them to be pursued in the first place was to keep up the pretence. I couldn't just let traitors run away from under your nose without even seeming to take action."

Was Merlin smiling?

"But so what?" Arthur continued. "It's a hypothetical scenario. What are we going to do, just hope and pray that Elyan will say those exact words?"

"I doubt his thoughts are too far away from it at this point," Leon said. "I could say a word or two to him. Disguise it as trying to reason with him, if we're in danger of being overheard. I'd say something about how he should remember that he's valuable, and that there's still a chance that his sister will get away completely."

"Seems like a gamble," Arthur said.

"It's the best I can think of," Leon said, looking between him and Merlin.

Arthur nodded, and told him to go on ahead.

IYîYîYîYI

Leon walked out the door, and Arthur stood to follow him, leaning on the back of the chair as he rose.

"So, can I come with you now?" Merlin asked. "Or am I still under arrest?"

"You weren't under arrest, Merlin."

Merlin didn't answer.

"Just ... stay in the background, alright?" Arthur said. "And try to stay quiet unless you absolutely have to say something."

"Don't I always?"

"Ha. Ha."

Arthur was almost smiling, but he still seemed weighed down. Something about his demeanour made Merlin's heart ache. Merlin crossed the few feet that separated them and hugged him.

Arthur was clearly taken by surprise. For a moment, he stood still and unresponsive in Merlin's arms. Merlin couldn't even tell if he was breathing. Then his entire body seemed to sag, and he leant into the embrace, returning it. Merlin could feel Arthur's breath against his neck. It sent tiny shivers down his spine, but he remained where he was. Neither of them spoke.

Eons seemed to pass. Merlin could have stood there forever.

It was Arthur who stepped away. He gave Merlin a quizzical look. Then he turned and walked out the door, holding it open for Merlin to follow.

IYîYîYîYI

Elyan was pacing the floor when they got down, but Arthur was relieved to see he seemed more worried than angry.

Others, however, were of a different disposition.

"Your Majesty," Sir Hector said, almost running up to them, "what a relief that you are here. Sir Elyan will not cease to ask that the search for the traitorous Queen be called off."

"No, I will not," Elyan agreed from the far end of the room.

Percival stood next to him, looking nervous, and Gwaine leant against the wall keeping an eye on the proceedings. Several other knights stood spread around the room.

"His superiors have tried to dissuade him from this rocky course, but he will not hear reason."

"I've tried to reason with him, sire," Leon said, pointing out that it was he who was Elyan's superior, not Hector.

"Sir Leon has done his best and bears no blame," Sir Bernard confirmed.

Arthur nodded and thought to himself that Merlin was clearly not the only one who could work magic. He had never known Leon was such a good actor.

"Elyan."

"My Lord," Elyan replied, and bowed.

"I realise you're upset."

"I am, My Lord. My sister could have gotten executed while I was away and didn't even know she had been accused of a crime."

"But she wasn't."

"And I thank the gods for that, but I was still deceived."

"Thanks the gods?" Hector said in a stage whisper. "That a traitor to the crown got away?"

Some of the knights murmured, in assent it seemed.

"Did you have anything to add, Sir Hector?" Arthur snapped.

The old knight didn't take the bait, but his colleague Sir Bernard cleared his throat.

"My Lord, if I may speak?"

"You may."

"I wonder if this young knight might not be the one who provided Sir Lancelot with horse and armour? It seems to me he is the one who had the most to lose, or to gain. And since he went away, we do not know where he has been. It is true that none of us told him what was happening to his sister, but the castle is big. He might well have found out."

Arthur felt frustration rise. This was not how this conversation had been supposed to go.

"Armour?" Elyan said.

He gave Arthur a confused look.

Hector glared at Sir Bernard. He had probably planned to try and accuse Merlin of being the one who had come to Lancelot's aid, and was watching his strategy being weakened by his own ally.

"I think it's quite clear," he said, "that Sir Elyan did not know about his sister's recent fate until he came storming in here. And even if he'd been told, he'd hardly have had time to help ..."

As he spoke, Arthur watched Elyan's eyes, still trained on Arthur, widen in recognition.

"I did," he said.

Everyone in the room fell silent. Arthur gaped.

"I overheard a couple of guards speaking of what was about to happen," Elyan continued, "and I took a horse and a set of armour and rode after Lancelot. I knew my sister's life would be worth little at court after this and I knew he'd save her. I know it's tantamount to treason, and you have to believe that I would never, ever betray you, Your Majesty. But I had to give my sister a fighting chance."

Arthur felt as if someone was playing an elaborate prank on him.

"What kind of man would I be if I let my own flesh and blood burn?" Elyan kept saying. "What kind of knight? Now they're gone, and what harm can they do that hasn't already been done? Please, Sire, I beg you, I know what I did was not fair to you, but if you call of the search and let them run, I'll ... I'll be in the stocks for a month, I'll serve as a stable boy for the rest of my life, and I'll be the most loyal subject in all of Camelot till the day I die."

"Whose armour did you take?" Hector asked.

Arthur started.

And then, when he thought he couldn't get more surprised, Elyan replied:

"Sir Bors'."

Sir Hector was stunned. His face paled, then turned pink. Arthur sprang into action, trying to contain his glee at seeing the old man's confusion.

"Your honesty is commendable, Sir Elyan," he said. "What you have done is a crime, but as you say, we can all see your reasons, and that this display of disloyalty is not likely to be repeated. I will see you in the stocks for five days, and you will be excluded from the training and the company of the other knights for another hundred days."

Elyan's face fell, and Arthur saw several of the other knights cringe. This was a punishment that might not sound severe to anyone else, but which he new carried great weight with them.

"But," he added, "I _will _call off the search for your sister. By now, we're not likely to find her anyway."

Elyan actually fell to his knees. Arthur almost felt embarrassed.

"Thank you, My Lord. I will not forget your mercy."

"See that you don't. Now get up."

Elyan scrambled to his feet. Arthur wondered how he could look so grateful to be forgiven for a crime he hadn't committed. He hoped his own gratitude didn't shine through.

"My Lord," Hector intervened, "your sentence is uncommonly mild."

_Enough,_ Arthur thought.

"Really, Sir Hector? Are you the best judge of that? I am tired of all these trials! I'm tired of all these accusations flying left and right. The true as well as the false ones. I want to rule my kingdom in peace, and I want my knights to act as knights. And even if Elyan went against my will to help his sister, right here in this room he has shown more loyalty and respect than you have, Sir Hector – than you have in a long time."

No one said anything. No one protested on Hector's behalf. The knights closest to Hector took a step away.

_They wouldn't turn away from him when he disagreed with me about Merlin and magic, _Arthur thought. _But they would turn away from him when I defended one of their own._ Leon had been right. Nothing was holier for the knights than that.

He allowed himself to turn around for a moment. Merlin was standing by the door, trying to look as if he wasn't smiling.

IYîYîYîYI

It wasn't until the next morning Merlin got the chance to talk to Arthur again, and when he did, Arthur immediately stopped eating his breakfast – though he was still holding a piece of bread in his hand – and took charge of the conversation.

"How do you think Elyan knew it was Bors' armour I'd given Lancelot?" he asked.

"Luck?" Merlin suggested.

One look at Arthur told him that wasn't going to work.

"I told him," he admitted.

Arthur still didn't seem convinced.

"When could you possibly have told him?"

"Right before he said it."

Arthur frowned.

"You did that thing ..." He made a vague gesture with the piece of bread. "You spoke in his head?"

"Yes."

"But he didn't even flinch. Not that I noticed, at least."

"Well, some people are less skittish than others," Merlin said.

"I didn't flinch either," Arthur hurried to point out. "Did you tell him to confess as well?"

Merlin shook his head.

"Can't take the credit for that. That was his own idea."

Arthur sighed and put down the bread.

"It felt horrible to punish him when he hadn't done a thing wrong."

"He knew when he said those things that you'd be forced to punish him, and he said it anyway. He did it to help."

"Well, when this has calmed down a bit, we should find a way to reward him."

Merlin shifted a bit.

"We?"

"Yes, we. Why, don't you agree with me?"

"I do."

Arthur studied him.

"Merlin?"

"Yes?

"Why did you ..."

He trailed off.

"What?" Merlin said.

Arthur shook his head.

"Nothing. Never mind."

He still had that thing about him, Merlin thought, something that made him look old. Maybe he would never look young again.

IYîYîYîYI

* * *

><p><span>AN: _Damn, this is just getting harder and harder. I guess it's because I can see the end running up towards me and I don't want this to be over. It's been a wonderful ride._


	57. The Lost and the Returned

_A/N: __Won't keep you long before we start, I just want to clarify, since this chapter ends in a rather special way, that THIS IS NOT THE FINAL CHAPTER. There are three more to come._

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_Let it go  
>Let it roll right off your shoulder<br>Don't you know  
>the hardest part is over?"<em>

– Rob Thomas_, Little Wonders_

IYîYîYîYI

**The Lost and the Returned**

The summer, long and stubborn as it had been, was over. In a matter of days, the world seemed to change around Camelot. The woods began to sparkle in different shades of red and yellow. There was no real bite in the wind yet, but the air smelled different: it smelled of moss and mushrooms and that indefinable something that tells of frost nights in the future.

Merlin watched Arthur go about his duties.

Years earlier, when Morgana had taken Camelot, and Arthur had heard her reveal that she was his sister, Arthur had gone into some sort of trance. He had been like someone walking in their sleep – the light had gone out behind his eyes. Merlin had had to lead him out of Camelot. Arthur hadn't even complained that they were leaving Uther behind. He hadn't said a word. He had followed Merlin in silence. He had been silent when they met up with Elyan, Gwaine and Gaius, and silent when they made their camp in the cave. Elyan and Gwaine had looked doubtfully at Merlin when he gave Arthur orders, but what else had he been supposed to do when the man wouldn't respond? Gaius, used to Merlin's insubordination, and always a physician first and foremost, had directed his worried glances at Arthur instead. The moment Merlin had stopped bossing him around he had fallen into a heap in a corner, like a puppet no longer animated by the puppeteer, and turned his face towards the wall. He had remained like that all night, and all day after that. For the better part of a week he had hardly moved, except to relieve himself and to eat and drink what little Merlin could force into him. He had remained silent. Nothing could shake him out. Merlin had been _afraid_ – perhaps more afraid than he had ever been. He could protect Arthur from almost anything, but no magic in the world could save a man from the darkness in his own soul. He hadn't even known (and he still didn't know) what it had been – just the shock? Had he been angry and disappointed with Uther? With Morgana? Had it been self-reproach for not having seen it coming – or, perhaps, for other things? When Arthur had spoken for the first time in days, it hadn't mattered that the words he spoke were: "Shut up, Merlin". Merlin had still been elated.

After that, it had been the slow death of Uther. The pain that had been evident in Arthur's eyes as his father, a man that perhaps no one but Arthur had loved, withered away before him – Merlin could still recall that look, and he didn't ever want to see it again. When Uther was at his worst, Arthur had been sullen and irritable, breaking out of his long silences only to snap at Merlin. When the King had died at last, it was only the fast approach of the wedding that had kept Arthur from sinking even deeper down in misery. Instead it had pulled him up, put a smile on his face and, Merlin had no reason to believe otherwise, made him genuinely happy for perhaps the first time since Morgana had turned against them.

Now that marriage was over. As days turned into weeks, Arthur busied himself with training the knights, and he pushed them so hard that Merlin started hearing complaints being whispered in hallways from the knights who were still upright and conscious in the afternoons. Arthur studied Camelot's history, he inspected every part of the castle where things were being constructed or repaired, he went through all the treaties, had frequent correspondence with other kings near and far discussing trade and defence alliances. Every man and woman seemed to straighten their back under the King's benevolent attention. Things were being done quicker, better, grander. All in all, Camelot was having golden days. Merlin never saw a single one of the King's smiles reach his eyes, not that he would have expected it. But if this was Arthur's new way of handling grief and pain, Merlin really didn't have any complaints.

IYîYîYîYI

A fortnight after the trial of the Queen, a messenger came from the court of Princess Elena. Merlin and Arthur were discussing what was to be done with the impending food shortage after the dry, hot summer when a guard introduced the man. He excused his interruption by telling them that the foreigner had insisted that his orders had been to deliver the letter directly into Arthur's hand.

Arthur took the letter, broke the seal that had been put on it and opened it. He gave it a quick look, and turned to the guard.

"Make sure this man is given a warm meal and a bed. I'll have an answer to send back with him in the morning. I hope that will be possible?" he added to the messenger.

"Of course, Your Majesty," the man said and bowed deeply before they left.

Arthur sat down to study the letter more carefully with a look of deep concentration on his face.

Merlin meant to let him finish undisturbed, but curiosity got the better of him.

"What is it about?" he asked.

Arthur looked up, then at the door, then back at Merlin.

"Guinevere and Lancelot. Apparently they turned up at Elena's court a few days back. She writes that she would be glad to let them stay, but only if I don't have anything against it. She sent the letter in the most confidential way she could manage so that I'd be able to answer honestly and not politically. She's shrewd," he concluded with a hint of a smile.

Merlin looked at the letter even though he couldn't read a word from where he was standing. He felt as if it had offended him somehow, bringing up these names that should have left them – that _had_ left them.

"What are you going to say to her?"

Arthur looked down at the letter, too.

"I don't know."

Then, without even meeting Merlin's eyes, he got up and walked to the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow," was all he said before he made his exit, leaving Merlin standing in the middle of the room.

Merlin's heart sunk as he watched him go. The door closed without so much as a squeak, but it might as well have been slammed in his face.

IYîYîYîYI

They had little meetings often, to discuss matters of state, or talk about Mim, or just play a game on the cracked chessboard. It was Merlin who had suggested that these should take place in Arthur's old room. He saw that the other room held bad memories for Arthur, both of Gwen and of Uther's time of infirmity before that, and he considered his own room too dubious a choice in some people's eyes. It was not until they sat there that he had remembered that this room held memories of its own – and not just the old ones, of a time before weddings and coronations. More prominent than that, like a new glaring painting painted on top of an old modest one, was the memory of that disastrous encounter that had made him stay an arm's length away from Arthur for so long, perhaps even more than the conflict and the brutal punishment that had taken place just a few days later.

It had surprised Merlin as much as it would anyone, but it was easier to shake the hand of a man who had had you flogged than one whose very touch could fill your whole body with fear and joy simultaneously. It wasn't a sign of attraction. It couldn't be – it was something he had felt from the start. Arthur so rarely touched anyone except to shake their hand, pat them on the back or punch them on the arm. That was why the few times when Arthur slung an arm around Merlin's shoulders, Merlin had always felt like he'd been chosen, singled out, not just by the troublesome Lady Destiny or the grumpy old dragon, but by Arthur himself. That was enough to inspire both fear and elation in anyone, surely. On the other hand, he had to admit, there was no getting around the fact that it was different now. It was different to shake someone's hand when you knew how it felt to have that hand pressed against the small of your back under your tunic. It was different to have a man's arm thrown over your shoulder when you knew what his lips felt like against your neck. Not good, not bad, just ... impossible to forget.

But Arthur showed no sign of being bothered by distracting, complicating memories, so Merlin forced himself to ignore them as well. He knew this game: they were pretending it had never happened. Just as they did with the flogging, as they did with Gwen and Lancelot's betrayal, as they had for so long with the fact Morgana and Mordred were still out there somewhere, as they had done perhaps from day one with the fact that Merlin had always disliked Uther. It was an old game for them, and one Merlin had thought he had mastered long ago. But when Arthur put his hand on his shoulder and Merlin had to struggle not to jump, he wasn't so sure.

IYîYîYîYI

"I sent Elena's messenger back," Arthur said the day after the man had turned up.

"With a message?" Merlin asked when no more information seemed to be forthcoming.

"Yes."

"Saying?"

"That I think she should let them stay, as long as they can keep a low profile until this whole thing becomes old news. It's not that far away, after all."

"A queen who's accused of treason and runs away with a knight – becoming old news? You'd have to wait forever," Merlin said, aware of a strange bitter note in his voice.

"It will probably take a couple of years," Arthur admitted, "but it won't take forever."

IYîYîYîYI

While some memories of the past were subdued during their meetings, others came knocking on the door. When the initial specks of red and yellow in the foliage had turned into a sea of fire-coloured leaves surrounding Camelot, a familiar cart rolled into the courtyard. Merlin had been standing by the window, and instantly stopped listening to Arthur to watch the scene that unfolded below.

Arthur must have noticed fairly quickly, because he came to stand by his side.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, with equal parts offence and curiosity in his voice.

Merlin couldn't help the smile that grew on his face.

"A happy ending."

Down on the courtyard, Alice climbed down from her cart and handed the reins to the inn-keeper who had come out to greet a potential guest. From the other end of the courtyard, Gaius emerged. Had he known she would be coming today? Had he gotten a letter from her and not even told Merlin?

The two old people below fell into each other's arms. The inn-keeper moved as if to begin to unpack the cart, but they gestured to him unison and he walked off empty-handed with a smile on his face. Instead Emma turned up from somewhere to grab Alice's belongings and carry them inside, while the happy couple followed in a slower pace, holding hands.

Merlin looked up to see Arthur still watching the scene with an incongruous expression of sadness. Merlin's own smile faded quickly.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Something I should have done," Arthur said without turning away from the window. "Something I didn't think about."

"What?"

_Why is every conversation with you like pulling teeth?_ Merlin thought.

"I have to send another letter to Elena," Arthur said.

"What for?"

"So she can let Guinevere know that I'm releasing her from her vows. She should be free to marry Lancelot."

Merlin turned to the window again in time to see Gaius and Alice disappear through a doorway. He could follow Arthur's thoughts.

"I mean, not because I'm overly eager too," Arthur added hurriedly, and when Merlin looked at him he seemed to have chased all emotion away from his features. "That's not what I meant. But it's the right thing to do."

"Yes," Merlin agreed. "It is."

He looked out the window again, mainly so that he wouldn't have to think about that strange expression on Arthur's face.

"I should go and see them," he said.

"Guinevere and Lancelot?" Arthur said with a sneer.

Merlin levelled a gaze at him.

"Gaius and Alice."

"Oh."

"I should welcome her back. And apologise for handing her over the last time she was here."

"Do you really want to interrupt them right now?" Arthur asked.

"Why not?"

This time Arthur was the one raising his eyebrows.

"Ew!" Merlin exclaimed. "_Arthur_! Thanks, thanks for putting that image in my head."

Arthur laughed, and that alone was almost worth it.

Almost.

"I'm leaving," he repeated, though not so sure now if he would actually go down to the physician's quarters.

"You do that. Oh, and Merlin!"

Merlin turned with his hand on the door handle.

"I'm going hunting," Arthur said. "The day after tomorrow, a five day trip. I'll leave Leon here to be in charge while I'm gone."

Hunting, of all things. That was one part of court life Merlin would never learn to appreciate.

"Because killing things mends a broken heart?" he asked.

Arthur gave him a look.

"Morgana said something along those lines once," he said.

Merlin shrugged.

"Well, just because she turned out to be evil, it doesn't mean she wasn't right about some things."

"Maybe not", Arthur said, "but I'm still going. I haven't been hunting for ages."

Merlin sighed.

"When are we leaving?" he asked.

Arthur shook his head in disbelief.

"_I'm_ leaving tomorrow. But you can stay here. I know you don't like hunting."

"I'm hardly going to let you go off on your own, am I?"

"It's a hunting trip, Merlin, what are you going to protect me against? Wild boars?"

Merlin was about to say "wouldn't be the first time" but instead he remained silent, looked straight at Arthur and watched realisation and, consequently, self-deprecation dawn on the other man's face.

"Right," Arthur said, "I don't want to know half of it, do I?"

"Probably not," Merlin agreed.

He tried to catalogue all the feelings he thought he could see in Arthur's eyes: mirth, defeat, annoyance, and fondness.

"Well," the King said, "I guess you can come then."

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin was invited to Gaius' quarters the next evening. He came downstairs expecting one of the dinners of old, around Gaius' work table. Instead, when he opened the door, he was faced with the preparations for a party.

The room was warm and bright. A couple of tables had been pushed together in the middle to allow several dinner guests. Emma was pulling up chairs to the table, and Mim put down the plates she had been placing out in order to run and greet Merlin. He scooped her up into his arms and walked across the room to where Gaius and Alice were both preparing the food.

"I wasn't aware you were going to feed half the army," Merlin said.

Gaius smiled broadly at him. Merlin didn't think anything in the world could have brought the old man down tonight.

"We're old people, Merlin. We have to celebrate while we still can."

"Very funny," Merlin said, putting Mim back down. But even though he smiled, a part of him still called out: _Don't talk like that!_ The thought of Gaius not being there was a chilling one. Even if they didn't see as much of each other anymore, Gaius was still the real father figure in Merlin's life. He couldn't imagine Camelot without Gaius' calm, reasoning presence, his wisdom and advice. Who could ever take that place?

"Who else is coming?" he asked.

"Hunith went to get a couple of bottles of wine from the cellars. And she insisted that we'd invite Gwaine and Elyan, and I agreed. You can see the rest of the guests before you."

The table was covered with more pots and pans than Merlin could remember Gaius ever having owned. Emma explained that they had borrowed a lot from the kitchen. Hunith came in with the wine, beaming with shared joy, and hugged Merlin. The two knights arrived. Gwaine had a smile on his face and another bottle for the party (Merlin didn't want to know where he'd gotten it) and Elyan shook Gaius' hand and thanked him for having been included. No one mentioned that either the invitation or the gratitude had anything to do with the fact that he now had no living family in Camelot, but it was clear that they all knew it.

The dinner was splendid. For all the good times it had seen, the room had never resounded with laughter like it did this evening, never been filled with so much warmth and familiarity. Hunith embarrassed her son by telling funny anecdotes of the trouble his magic had caused when he was a kid – anecdotes she'd never been able to share with anyone before – and Merlin nearly choked on his food with laughter when Gwaine told them about the time he had escaped from a village hidden in a cart full of fish, and then been accused of witchcraft in the next town over because all the cats in the place followed him around.

"I think that might have been the only time I've been hunted out of a place for something I _hadn't_ done," Gwaine concluded.

Even Hunith laughed, instead of pointing out that Mim was listening. Everyone smiled at each other as the food was passed around the table. Merlin saw Gaius and Alice holding hands when they thought no one would notice, and his heart was about to burst in his chest. He didn't think he'd been so happy for someone else's sake in his entire life.

The pots were only half empty, but their stomachs already more than half full, when there was a knock on the door and Arthur walked in.

Emma and Elyan both flew up from their chairs, and Gaius, Alice, and Hunith were all about to rise when Arthur gestured for them to stay seated.

"Please, I didn't mean to disturb. If I'd known you were throwing a party I'd have come at a better time."

Emma and Elyan slowly sat down again.

"What can we do for you, Sire?" Gaius asked.

"You've known me since the day I was born, Gaius, you can call me Arthur in my own home."

Several of the members of the dinner party looked more puzzled than pleased at the mild smile on Arthur's face.

"I'm not here on a medical errand," Arthur continued. "I wanted to talk to you, Alice. To apologise for the way your last visit ended, to say that you are very welcome back, and to promise you'll never have to leave Camelot again."

Alice shook her head frantically.

"Oh no, Your Majesty. I'm the one who should apologise. What I did was unforgivable, and a shame to my profession. I nearly killed your father – you have every reason not to forgive me."

"I have _no_ reason not to forgive you," Arthur said kindly. "You weren't yourself."

Alice looked about ready to cry. Hunith looked at Arthur in a way that told Merlin he'd just gone a long way towards redeeming himself in her eyes.

"Thank you, Sire," Gaius said when Alice couldn't, ignoring the King's request to be called Arthur.

"Thank you," Alice chimed in, collecting herself.

"There's nothing to thank me for," Arthur said, but smiled at the old couple. Then, turning to the whole company: "I'm sorry for interrupting. I'll let you continue your celebration."

He turned to leave. Hunith glared at Merlin, but Merlin didn't understand why until she stood up and said:

"Won't you join us, Sire?"

Arthur turned around. Merlin would have told his mother that a Pendragon, a King, wouldn't be interested in the simple dinner they were having, but he saw the wistful look on Arthur's face as he looked at the makeshift table, the food that was served in the same pots and pans it had been cooked in, and the plain-dressed participants in this ... well, it was a family gathering of sorts, wasn't it?

"I don't want to intrude ..." Arthur protested meekly.

"Nonsense!" Gaius interrupted him. "Sit down, Arthur. There's more than enough for another guest, we have more food tonight than even Merlin could gobble down."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Merlin protested.

But Gaius smiled, and so did Arthur, and before Merlin knew it someone had drawn up a new chair next to him and Arthur was sitting down on it, hesitantly. A nervous note nestled itself into the joy and familiarity for a moment.

Merlin was hardly aware that he had reached down and grabbed Arthur's hand until he felt Arthur's fingers close around his own. He was struck by how different it felt from holding Freya's small, cold hands in his, years ago. Arthur's hand was warm and as large as his own, if stronger and more calloused.

"Are we celebrating anything apart from the obvious?" Arthur asked as Emma placed a clean plate in front of him. He pulled his hand free to grab the pot and spoon she handed him.

Arthur serving himself food. Not long ago, the sight could have been enough to make Merlin faint.

"The world's longest engagement," Gwaine said.

Gaius glared a bit at him, but Alice laughed, so Gaius' stern expression melted.

"The returned possibility to save people's life and health, even if it takes magic," Gaius said.

Both Alice and Emma looked like they were about to choke at that, but Arthur surprised them by only nodding in what looked like honest agreement.

"It's hard to think of a better reason," he said.

The physicians in the room beamed.

"The love that prevails," Emma added to the list, and they all laughed embarrassedly at her sappiness.

"Food on the table and good friends around it," Hunith said, a bit more grounded.

"People with cold heads and warm hearts," Elyan said, glancing at Arthur.

"Happy endings," Merlin supplied.

"Hear hear," Hunith agreed.

"To happy endings," Gwaine said, raised his goblet and nodded at Gaius and Alice.

They all raised their mugs and goblets.

"To happy endings!"

Merlin turned to look at Arthur. To see how he handled this situation, perhaps. Their eyes met.

"To happy endings," Arthur said, in chorus with the others.

Merlin felt as if needles were pricking his skin from his scalp down to his toes and the rest of the room faded away for a moment. It was true; the room was full with happy endings. Even Gwen and Lancelot had each other and a place to start over. Was Merlin happy? He wasn't sure. He felt alright, he supposed. He also felt like his stomach was host to a whole swarm of butterflies when Arthur looked at him like that.

Then Mim made a little noise of disgust and the others laughed, and Merlin turned to see Gaius and Alice kissing.

IYîYîYîYI

The stars were shining in at them through the window when Emma tried to get Arthur to take more fruit and cheese. Arthur declined.

"No, thank you. I'm so full I feel like I could sleep for a week. Actually, I think I'll have to retire. But it's been a wonderful evening."

"Does that mean you're cancelling the hunting trip?" Merlin asked, not bothering to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice.

Gwaine laughed, and Arthur made a mock-frown at him.

"You get the strangest ideas sometimes, Merlin."

Merlin shrugged.

"It was worth a try."

"I told you," Arthur, said, rising from the table. "There's no need for you to come along."

Merlin shot his best frown back.

"You get the strangest ideas sometimes."

Arthur made as if to hit Merlin over the head, and Merlin ducked, but Arthur just smiled at him. Merlin had an inkling that he was grinning back. He was too tired to school his features.

_Speaking of which ..._

"Well, if we're leaving early tomorrow I have to sleep, too."

While Arthur said goodbye to Gaius and Alice, Merlin got up and hugged Mim and his mother and nodded to Gaius. They walked to the door together.

Merlin turned around to say goodbye to Gwaine, but the smirk on the other man's face made him forget what he'd been about to say. Gwaine just shook his head, silently, and Merlin could see the mirth and affection in his eyes.

IYîYîYîYI

"That was really nice," Arthur said as they moved up the staircase. He turned to look at Merlin who was one step behind him. Merlin walked into him when he stopped, and almost fell over. He grabbed Arthur's arm to keep his balance.

"I hope you didn't think I was ..." Arthur began.

Merlin didn't let him finish.

"You belonged there."

Arthur smiled. The moon was shining right through a narrow window high above them and lit Arthur's face in a way that made it look like he was sculpted from marble.

Merlin stopped breathing. It hit him as if someone had punched him in the gut – a sudden desire to lean in and kiss Arthur. He had to blink. It wasn't just a stray memory or an irrational fear this time. He, Merlin, really wanted to do it. It felt like a revelation.

But he'd had wine, and it was late, and if he did, then what? A chaste kiss in the moonlight was one thing, but other things were bound to follow, like _words_, and _actions_, and Merlin was less sure that he wanted _them_. He almost panicked right there, utterly clueless about what to do.

"Thank you," Arthur said.

Merlin forced himself to breathe again, and leaned away from Arthur until the other man resumed his walk up the stairs. Merlin let him get a bit of a head start. His heart calmed down. It was alright. There had been no reason to panic. He didn't have to do anything at all. He could think about what had just happened – or rather _not_ happened – tomorrow. He could think it over a thousand times if he wanted to. They had weathered all the crises, and now the dust was settling down. He had all the time in the world.

IYîYîYîYI

* * *

><p><em><span>AN:__ Still not sure what title to give Elena. In the canon, she's a princess, but her father is a lord – a "lord" with a "kingdom". How does that work? What does __she become when he dies? Can anyone spread any light on this for me? Or were the writers just really confused? Chose to stick with "Princess" here and leave it unsaid whether her father died or just stepped back because of old age._

_This story is all I think of right now. I'm looking at old episodes to get details right, I'm re-reading the fic itself (I've forgotten I wrote some of this stuff!) and I'm writing, writing, writing. I even DREAMED about suddenly finding loose ends that I'd forgotten to tie up. It's that big a part of my mind._

_I'm also finally getting my hands on the Series 4 DVD box tomorrow, and series 5 starts on Saturday. _

_Everything is Merlin and nothing hurts._

_(Remember back in the day, when I said I'd finish this fic before Series 4 aired? And then when I said I wouldn't watch series 4 until I'd finished it? Yeah, I know - good times! XP)_


	58. Killing Things

_**A/N:**__ I loved how so many of you offered suggestions (and even facts) on the "Princess Elena" topic. I feel a bit better about continuing to call her Princess now, if for no other reason than that there seems to be nothing really set in stone about it._

_And yes, I got the airdate for the s 5 premiere wrong, but only because IMDB did. Speaking of which, now that it has begun__**: I will tolerate NO SPOILERS FOR SERIES FIVE, HOWEVER SMALL OR UNCERTAIN, IN ANY REVIEWS OR PM'S posted to me! Anyone who does not respect this WILL BE SEVERELY DEALT WITH. **__Even if you're on the other side of the earth, I'll find a way. Capishe? ;)_

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_Some die young  
>But you better hold on<br>So many things I need to say to you  
>Please don't, don't let me go<br>Yeah, we said we would die together  
>Some die young"<em>

**- Laleh**_**, Some Die Young**_

IYîYîYîYI

**Killing Things**

A small party gathered on the courtyard the next morning. Gwaine and Percival were there, chatting away as they got ready to leave. The others were Sir Brennis, a knight who had more brawn than brain but was likeable enough, and Sir Melias, who was one of those knights who kept throwing worried glances at Merlin – but Merlin wouldn't blame him today, because he was fairly certain it was he who had begun it by glaring at the knight. He still felt as if half of the knights wanted to throw a banquet in his honour and the other half wanted to chop his head off as soon as he turned his back to them.

Merlin was checking his saddle when he saw Sir Bernard loading the saddlebags on another horse. He turned around and nudged Arthur who had just led out his own horse.

"What?" the King asked.

"What's _he_ doing here?"

"Coming along, of course."

Arthur turned back to his horse.

"Why?" Merlin asked.

"To be your chaperone," Arthur deadpanned.

"That's not funny."

"No, it's the truth. It was him or Hector. And Bernard is actually a decent sort."

Arthur swung himself up on his horse, and Merlin hurried to mirror the action. When they were on the same level again he added, making sure Bernard wasn't close enough to hear:

"He hates me!"

Arthur sighed.

"No, he's suspicious of you. There's a slight difference."

Then he smiled at Merlin and Merlin's heart seemed to stop for a moment.

"I told you, you didn't have to come."

It was as if after all this time, Arthur still hadn't realised that Merlin didn't understand the meaning of those words.

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur knew full well that Merlin didn't approve of killing things for sport – though, Arthur had remarked a few times, he certainly had no problem with eating the spoils when they were put in front of him – but what Merlin didn't understand was that a hunting trip had very little to do with the actual killing of animals.

Hunting was an exercise in speed, stealth and agility of mind, to be sure (hadn't Merlin said something about that once: "you get by with two out of three then," or something like that? He never had known how to address royalty, had he – thankfully). But a hunting trip was also a way to get away, to leave the big echoing halls and the busy little streets of Camelot behind for a while. The rich smell of earth and wet leaves in the air was like balm for the soul. The sounds of the forest, the creaking branches, the birdsong, and the sound of a stream somewhere ahead were soothing for the mind. Adding to that, when you were hunting you had to focus on nothing but listening intently, keeping your eyes open and watching your step. The cares and worries you carried with you were left by the side until you turned home again.

Of course, there was an element of boyish competition there as well – no matter how much he had matured over the years, Arthur rarely turned down the opportunity to brag and show off a bit – but despite what Merlin might think, that was the least important part. Today, Sir Bernard had sighted a deer and offered Arthur the opportunity, but Arthur had refused. If Bernard had seen it, it should be Bernard's kill. The older man hadn't been able to keep from smiling. Since he was a child, Arthur had always been amused at how a man like Sir Bernard, who was broad shouldered, tall, had a face full of brown beard and looked like nothing so much as a bear in human form, could light up like a little child when he smiled.

It had taken Bernard only one arrow to fell the animal. Later when they had set up camp for the night and sat down at the fire, he still seemed chuffed when Arthur described it to the others.

"I'd never have made a killing hit from that distance," Arthur admitted.

"Only because you were always more interested in swordsmanship than archery, My Lord," Bernard said, but with a tone more loyal than teasing.

Arthur laughed.

"It wasn't so much about interest. _You_ taught me swordsmanship. I was supposed to learn archery from that horrid old Sir Pinel. I hated him. I wouldn't have excelled in anything he might have tried to teach me."

"He was not the most sympathetic of men," Bernard agreed.

"Didn't Uther teach you any of this?" Gwaine asked.

It struck Arthur then that none of the others had a clue what he and Bernard where talking about. How could they? They hadn't been in Camelot when Arthur was a little boy only just learning how to fight.

"Don't be silly," he said. "He practised with me sometimes, yes, but he didn't have the time to teach me everything I needed to know."

"When was this?" Gwaine asked.

"All my childhood really. Since I was ... seven or eight perhaps?"

Bernard nodded.

On the other side of the fire, Arthur saw Merlin smile.

"First time you met me, you told me you'd been trained to kill since birth," Merlin said.

Gwaine snorted.

"Well, I was a rude little prat back then, wasn't I?" Arthur said offhandedly, knowing full well that not even Merlin would say "yes you were" in this company. "Not all of us were born with our weapons," he added.

That made Percival and Brennis turn to look with interest at Merlin, and Melias to start like a skittish horse.

"Were you born with magic?" Percival asked, hesitantly, as if he was uncertain what the protocol was when talking about magic.

"Yes," Merlin said, squirming just slightly.

Arthur gathered that he still felt uncomfortable talking about it, and wished he hadn't opened his big mouth. But Percival frowned and went on.

"But ... don't you need spells and things?"

Merlin shrugged.

"It's ... it's not two different things entirely, but almost. When I was a child, I could ... stop things that were falling, or make things move, simple things like that. It wasn't until I got to Camelot that I started learning spells ..."

He stopped. Maybe he didn't want to incriminate Gaius, even now when it wasn't a crime anymore.

"Anyway," he continued, "you don't need to be born with magic to read a spell. Most people weren't. But it helps."

"What about Morgana?" Arthur heard himself say. "Was she born with it?"

Everyone stared at him, and then at the dark woods around them, as if she were out there somewhere in the blackness of night, watching them from behind a log, or from a hollow under a rock, or the crown of a tree. Maybe she was.

"I ..." Merlin hesitated. "I know Gaius used to make her a sleeping draught for these dreams she were having," he said. "Dreams that came true."

Arthur felt like someone had poured a bucket of cold water over his head. The thought of Morgana was washed clear out of his head, and instead he remembered the dreams _he'd_ had. Dreams that had been clearer, brighter in colour and stronger in sensation, than regular dreams. More coherent too. Dreams where his hands had looked old, where there had been wrinkles around Merlin's eyes. _Dreams where he'd seen Mim and known her name before they actually met._

"She had dreams of the future? The distant future?" he asked.

He hoped he didn't sound too shaken.

"No, usually it was things that took place the next couple of days," Merlin said, and Arthur could breathe a bit easier.

"Like what?" he asked, needing to know as much as he could now.

"I don't remember really, she mostly just came down looking distraught, asking for the potion. She dreamt about threats and dangers. Threats to herself, to Camelot, to you. She dreamt about Sofia of Timor trying to kill you."

That was a name that brought back memories Arthur would rather have left buried. He wondered what the true story about that had been. That he would have tried to elope with some random woman and been hit over the head by Merlin hadn't seemed very likely even then. He would ask Merlin later, he decided.

"... and she dreamt about the Questing beast," Merlin went on. "She tried to stop you from going that day, remember?"

Arthur did. He remembered the fear in her eyes, the hysteria in her voice. He remembered how much she had cared for him, and he for her. He remembered how she had taken against Sofia – and how he had teased her for being jealous.

They all fell quiet and stared into the fire or out into darkness again until Gwaine, bless him, asked:

"So where will we be heading tomorrow?"

And they all happily turned their attention to more practical matters, until eventually they dragged themselves into the two big tents they'd raised and fell asleep to the sound of the wind in the trees.

All except Arthur. He lay staring into the dark for a long while, unable to sleep. He could tell from the sounds of breathing coming from the other people in the tent that Gwaine and Bernard were both asleep, while Merlin and he were still awake.

"I'm sorry for bringing up magic," he whispered into the darkness.

"I'm sorry for bringing up Morgana," Merlin replied.

"I think you'll find _I _brought up that, too," Arthur reminded him.

He listened to the soft sound of Merlin's breaths for a while.

Arthur thought about the dreams again. He had seen Mim in his dreams. He had dreamt of his own death, and she had been there. So had Merlin. Merlin had held him as he died, whispering to him, telling Arthur that ... Arthur could hardly bear to think it if it couldn't be true. Because it couldn't be true, could it? The dream where he had woken up in bed next to Merlin? The dream where they had never made it to the bed? Arthur felt his cheeks heat up and was glad for the dark. He cursed himself for thinking about such things with Merlin so close. He wondered if Morgana had been through this too, wondering which of her dreams were just dreams and which ones would turn out to be prophetic. Had it been easier for her, who could expect to find out sooner rather than later, or had it been worse, to dream of threats of imminent misery and death rather than taunting images of a happiness that might never be granted him? Did she still have the dreams? Was she sleeping now, perhaps somewhere in this very forest, dreaming of things to come?

"Do you think she's still out here somewhere?" he whispered.

But he must have missed the moment when Merlin's breaths turned into the shallow, regular ones of a sleeping man, because there was no answer.

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin woke to the sound of branches creaking above him. He felt as if he would creak too if he tried to move. It was embarrassing how he'd got used to his own bed. Even the old one he'd had when he stayed with Gaius looked hard and uncomfortable now, and a blanket on the forest floor really didn't look like anything except a torture device.

He tried to sit up. It went better than he had thought; his back creaked once, and then he almost felt like a human again. He glanced down at Arthur, who was still sleeping, a couple of feet away. The blond hair was tussled, and there was a look of complete peace on his face. Merlin smiled to himself.

"There's something you don't see every day," he murmured to himself.

Arthur's eyes flew open, and Merlin almost fell back in surprise.

"If you're up and about, Merlin, why aren't you packing?"

_Well, that's more familiar_, Merlin thought, a part of him losing a bit of the good mood he'd just been settling into draining away from him, another still smiling inwardly at Arthur being Arthur.

"Some things never change, do they?" he said.

"No," Arthur agreed, and rolled over on his other side, pulling his blanket up as he did.

Merlin looked at the tent around him. He decided, to his own surprise, that he really couldn't be bothered. If Arthur wanted to give him orders first thing in the morning, Merlin would take the liberty of deciding how to follow them.

He muttered a few choice words.

The fabric of the tent began to roll itself up. The tent poles pulled themselves out of the ground. All loose items began to organise themselves into neat piles. Gwaine and Bernard both sat up, startled and disoriented, and stared at the things flying about around them.

"Hey!" Arthur shouted as his blanket flew up and folded itself. "What are you _doing_?"

"You told me to pack," Merlin pointed out.

"Not _right away_!"

So his voice could still reach go up to that high pitch when he surprised, Merlin noted. Who'd have thought.

"Well, you didn't really specify yourself, did you?"

Arthur picked up the bundle of blanket and threw it at Merlin. Then he seemed to become aware that they were being watched by an incredulous Bernard and a smirking Gwaine, and got to his feet.

"Right," he said, sounding a bit flustered, "no more lying about. Let's get going."

Merlin wondered if it was a trick of light, or if Arthur was blushing.

IYîYîYîYI

They rode on for a short while before they stopped to hunt while the animals were still moving. Merlin didn't need Arthur to tell him that the best time for hunting was in the mornings and the evenings, as most animals became docile and hid away during midday.

Merlin knew he should be concentrating on what they were doing, on not making any sound. He was probably going to fall over a great big log at any moment and send every animal in the area running, but his mind was just too full of thoughts. A whirlpool of thoughts, all spinning around the same centre:

_Arthur._

Once a thought has found its way into your head, it is so hard to make it let go. For a moment you might think you have escaped it, but it hides itself around every corner, behind every door, under every rock. Even the most innocent of musings will lead you to it. You turn your mind around and walk it in another direction, and what do you know – there it is again.

_Arthur._

All thoughts led to Arthur. It was hopeless. There was hardly single aspect of Merlin's life that wasn't connected to Arthur. He had been there the day Merlin had walked into Camelot, and every day since. All places and all people there had memories of Arthur tied to them. Arthur had come to Ealdor and helped save the village, so homewards was no longer a safe direction to take his thoughts. If he tried to think about his mother instead, that only worked for a while, because his mother lived in Camelot now, on Arthur's suggestion, and the last time they met Merlin had wondered if she might not forgive Arthur after all, eventually, and now he was wondering what she would say if she knew what Merlin had been thinking about on that staircase, moments later.

So he thought about his father, but that was the most devious trap of all, because that made him think of his father's death that Arthur had witnessed, and from there his thoughts went to when Arthur had brought it up, later.

"_No man is worth your tears," _he had said, and Merlin had not known how to be serious _without_ tearing up, so he had joked it off instead, saying: _"You're certainly not!"_ He still remembered how strained his voice had sounded.

What a lie there had been in those words. Perhaps the biggest lie he had ever told, and that was saying something. Not because Arthur, objectively speaking, was any more worthy of his tears than say Gwaine or Lancelot, or Gaius or Balinor for that matter – but Merlin had never been objective when it came to Arthur. He already had cried over him, too – in the woods outside the Crystal Cave, when Arthur had lain dying on the ground and there had been nothing, _nothing_, that Merlin could do. It had been one of the worst experiences of Merlin's life.

That was how it was: Arthur was the worst thing that had ever happened to him, Arthur was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and sometimes it felt as if Arthur was the _only_ thing that had ever happened to him. His destiny. Merlin from Ealdor, born to serve and protect Arthur Pendragon, to help him, to show him the way. Who had decided that? Where was it written in stone: Merlin and Arthur, Arthur and Merlin, each the bane of the other's existence, each the other's salvation? That part had to be written in stone somewhere. He felt it in his bones. This part, though, the part where he had looked at Arthur's sleeping form in the morning and wanted to touch – that part must be written in water. Or maybe it was written in blood, sending ripples through his veins. Yet, even as he tried to deny it, no matter which way he turned, he couldn't get away from ...

"Aah!"

The sharp cry snapped Merlin out of his haze. A few yards in front of him, Arthur stood clutching his ankle.

"What is it?" Merlin asked.

Arthur swore under his breath, but put his foot back down.

"Nothing," he said. "Just a scratch."

He continued down the path. Merlin watched him, looking for a limp. Arthur was so stubborn, he wouldn't let anyone believe it was serious even if his leg had been cut clean off.

Arthur turned back and raised an eyebrow at him. Merlin hoped he hadn't been caught staring.

"What are you waiting for?" Arthur said.

It was that old-day teasing tone again, but Merlin didn't rise to the occasion. Instead their eyes met, and neither of them said a word until Arthur turned and walked on.

IYîYîYîYI

When noon came around they ate, a meal of newly caught meat grilled over the fire and bread brought from Camelot, and they talked around the fire. This time, however, the conversation never really gained any speed. Neither Arthur nor Bernard contributed with a single word. The latter's silence wasn't surprising, Merlin thought, considering the attitude Bernard had towards him: that trick Merlin had pulled that morning had clearly put him on edge, the sullen, suspicious looks said it all. But what was Arthur's reason? He wasn't looking at anyone, and he seemed lost in thought. Was he still mourning over old friends, now lost? Merlin had believed he was getting better the last couple of days, getting happier, but maybe he had been wrong?

IYîYîYîYI

It took a few more hours before he began to suspect he hadn't been wrong at all. Perhaps it wasn't brooding that had made Arthur quiet and distant; perhaps it was something else, some physical ailment. Arthur looked paler than usual, and there were sweat beads on his forehead despite the cool air. Merlin walked up to him and whispered so that the others couldn't hear:

"Are you alright?"

Arthur only scoffed at him.

"Of course I'm alright, why wouldn't I be?"

"You don't look so well."

Arthur shook his head and took a sip from his water bottle.

"You worry too much, Merlin. I've just run myself down a bit, that's all."

"If you say so."

Merlin was far from convinced, but against his better judgement he let it go.

IYîYîYîYI

It was later still, and they were on the move again, when Merlin heard something he'd almost never heard: Gwaine sounding worried.

"Arthur?" Gwaine said. "Are you alright? You're not looking good."

Merlin had managed to focus his attention on the herbs that grew along the path they were riding on – some of them belonged to a rare species that he hadn't known could be found this near Camelot – but now he looked up at where Arthur and Gwaine were riding just ahead of him, and he saw Arthur sway in his saddle.

"Arthur!"

Arthur fell. The knights behind them called out in surprise. Merlin stretched out his arm, hardly knowing if he was trying to reach Arthur or cast a spell. His magic caught Arthur just before he would have slammed to the ground, and lowered him down gently the rest of the way.

They all threw themselves off of their horses. He and Gwaine, who had been closest to Arthur, were the first bend down by his side. Merlin's heart had leapt up into his throat and was beating wildly. Arthur lay pale and senseless on the ground, and for one of the most wretched seconds of his life Merlin thought he was dead.

"Arthur? Are you alright? Can you hear me?"

He only got a groan in response.

Gwaine didn't need instructions – they both reached out and turned Arthur over onto his back. They had barely done so before the other knights stood around them.

"What happened?" Bernard asked.

"What's wrong with the King?" Melias asked.

"Will he be alright?" Percival asked.

"I've no idea," Merlin answered to all three questions at once.

Arthur's eyes were still closed.

"Is that leg swollen?" Gwaine asked.

Merlin could have kicked himself.

_The stubborn fool. I should have realised sooner._

Gwaine pulled up Arthur's trouser leg. Merlin wondered why he wasn't the one doing that, then realised that his hands were shaking. He took a deep breath.

Arthur's leg was swollen, and there were greyish blisters developing on the skin, centring around two black marks that must, hours ago, have been the puncture wounds of a snakebite.

Gwaine whistled.

"That's not good."

Merlin felt Arthur's forehead.

"He's burning up."

Ignoring the audience, he murmured the words of one of the few medical spells he knew by heart – the one that reduced fever. But like so often when he had attempted healing magic in the past, he felt right away that the magic wasn't flowing through him the way it should.

"What did you do?" Bernard asked from behind him.

"I tried to bring his fever down."

"He doesn't look any different," Percival remarked.

"That's because it didn't work!"

He repeated the spell. There was no change.

"Can't you do something else?" Gwaine asked.

Merlin ran his hands through his hair.

"I don't know. I don't know anything else that could help."

"Can't you pull the poison out somehow?" Gwaine asked, pouring water from his own bottle on to a piece of clot Merlin hadn't seen him take out, and put the rag on Arthur's forehead with a gentleness Merlin hadn't known the knight possessed.

Merlin shook his head.

"Do you mean to tell us you can defeat a whole army on your own but a snakebite has you stumped?" Bernard asked.

"I know you knights don't like to hear it, but violence really isn't very complicated," Merlin snapped. "Healing is."

"Make a cut in the leg and let the poison bleed out," Melias suggested.

"No!" Merlin said, earning him a couple or those suspicious glances again.

"Everyone knows that's how you handle snakebites," Percival said.

"Well, I used to work for a physician and I can tell you that that's not true. Especially not when it's gone this far. All we can do is tie something around his leg to slow the circulation down, and try to put him on a horse. We have to get him back to Camelot, now."

"We're a day's ride away! There must be something you can do," Brennis said.

"No. There's nothing."

IYîYîYîYI

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

_**A/N:**__Watched "The Gates of Avalon" for Sophia-references, and went: "OMFG! It's Lucrezia Borgia!" *fangirl flail* Oh, the boons of rewatching! But maybe I was the only one who hadn't already noticed?_

_On the other end of the research-scale? Googling for pictures of snakebites. I'm so glad I live in a country with only one remotely poisonous species of snake. Brrr._


	59. To Let Yourself Burn

A/N: So, the penultimate regular chapter turns out to be the longest one yet. I also managed to write over 12 000 words of a Christmas-fic for the Avengers-fandom during that time. I guess I'm really having issues about letting go of this fic, huh.

By the by, the thought of "taxi dragon to the rescue" made me lol, but even if it's canon it feels a little bit too much like Deus ex Machina. This is what you get instead:

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_I walked into this empty church – I had no place else to go –  
>when the sweetest voice I ever heard came whispering to my soul.<br>I don't need to be forgiven for loving you so much.  
>It's written in the scriptures, it's written there in blood.<br>I even heard the angels declare it from above –  
>There ain't no cure, there ain't no cure, there ain't no cure for love."<em>

- Leonard Cohen, _Ain't No Cure for Love_

IYîYîYîYI

**To Let Yourself Burn**

Merlin held his hand above Arthur's forehead and began to mutter the words of the spell to ease Arthur's fever a third time. He was halfway through when a big hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

It was Sir Bernard.

"Stop that," the knight said.

Merlin shook his head.

"Sometimes it takes a couple of tries to get a spell to work. I've made this one work before, I can do it again."

He tried to pull his arm out of the other man's grip, but Bernard didn't even flinch.

"How do we know that it isn't working?" he asked. "How do we know those words you're whispering aren't meant to make him worse?"

"What?"

Merlin's head had already been spinning, and now he felt like he had missed something that had be said earlier, because how could anyone possibly think that he would be trying to make Arthur _worse_?

"This is you, isn't it?" Bernard said. "You did this. You've put some sort of spell on him, and poisoned him, well away from Camelot so that you couldn't be cornered if it went wrong."

"What?" Merlin just repeated.

Percival glanced between them, looking torn. Brennis watched Merlin intently and Melias had his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Leave him alone, you idiots," Gwaine barked at them. "Of course he didn't do this."

"It's a snakebite," Percival said, but it sounded more like a question than a statement. "You can see that."

"You think a sorcerer wouldn't have the wit to conceal his deeds?" Bernard asked.

"You sound like Uther," Merlin spat and tried to break free once more. It was as futile as it had been the first time, and he had to fight his own impulses to not throw the man off him by using magic.

"Uther was a good man."

"That can be debated," Gwaine said.

Bernard fumed.

"And who are you, _Sir Gwaine_, to say so? Isn't it the least bit suspicious, that this happens when we're the furthest away from Camelot? That a sorcerer who claims to be _good _can't use his powers for healing?"

"You're a knight," Merlin said, "are all weapons equally easy to learn to you? You said it yourself yesterday, some men are swordsmen and some are archers. There are different kinds of magic, and different talents. Alice has the healing talent. When we get Arthur back to Camelot, she can cure him, she can cure anything."

"So we should deliver the King from your clutches into those of another witch?"

"Don't call her that," Gwaine growled.

"'A remedy to cure all ills'?" Bernard said, ignoring him. "We've heard that before. That time it was used to get the opportunity to kill the King. What makes this any different?"

Beside them, Brennis was getting ready to pull out his sword too.

"What makes it different is that I don't want to kill the King!" Merlin was shouting now. "Why would I possibly want that? Why would _you believe_ that I want that? What could you possibly think I'd get out of it?"

"What you would get out of it? Uther is dead, the Lady Morgana is defeated, the Queen is gone – in a very short time, you have gone from being a servant to become perhaps the closest in line to the throne."

Merlin was stunned.

"That... that's insane. That's not even true."

Melias drew his sword.

"If he's done this," he said, his voice shaking, "then killing him would cure the king, right?"

Merlin spun around, ready to shield himself from the blow, but he never had to. If Percival had seemed uncertain of his loyalties a moment ago, he didn't now. He stepped in between Melias and Merlin. He didn't even have to draw his sword; the sheer size of him gave the much smaller Melias pause. Gwaine was also standing up, his sword in his hand, and Brennis took a step backwards, but Bernard looked unshaken, as if none of this escalating hostility mattered to him.

"I don't flatter myself that I would stand a chance against you, sorcerer," he said. "I simply want to know the truth, so that I can know for certain that I died trying to protect my King, if that's what will happen."

"The truth?" Merlin nearly laughed, nearly cried. "The truth? You're insane! You're all insane! I don't_ care_ about _politics_ and _power_! What will it take for you to understand that? I don't want gold and money! I don't want control and influence! _All I want _is for Arthur to _wake up_." Merlin heard his voice break and wondered if the others had heard it too. He felt hot tears beginning to roll down his cheeks, and cursed them under his breath. "If I went around poisoning people, don't you think I'd start with _you_? I would lay down my _life_ for him. I have spent _years_, _living_ to protect him and if you still can't see that, then I don't know what else to do!"

He wiped his face angrily, but the tears kept being replaced by new ones. For a moment all was silent, silent as the grave. Even the birds had stopped singing. It felt as if no one would ever speak again.

"Put away your swords, hot-blooded young fools," Bernard roared. "We're taking the King back to Camelot, _now_."

Brennis, Melias, Percival and Gwaine all looked equally surprised, but they quickly shook themselves out of it, followed the order and began to lift Arthur from the ground.

Merlin didn't understand what had happened, but then a cold fear gripped him.

"If you think you can leave me here..."

"Of course not." Bernard's tone was harsh, but there was a trace of softness, or even sadness, somewhere in his eyes that Merlin hadn't seen there before. "You go where the king goes. I should have known that by now."

Bernard swung himself onto his horse, and Merlin noticed that the others were almost ready to turn back already. Melias sat on his horse, and Percival was leading Merlin's horse up to him. Gwaine and Brennis had tied Arthur to his horse, and were trying to make it as secure as possible. It was too long a journey to just sling him over a horse like a sack of potatoes, like Arthur had done with Gwaine so long ago, the first time the three of them had met. They had been rushing back to Camelot for medical help then too. That day, they had been in time. Merlin prayed they would be now as well.

IYîYîYîYI

It was already evening when they started their journey back to Camelot, and soon the dark settled around them. They rode as fast as Arthur's bad condition allowed, and then as fast as darkness allowed which was even slower. Usually, when a group of knights considered they had been made vulnerable their practice was to stay on the smaller paths in order to avoid further attack, but this time they headed to the highroad – it was smoother, which made the ride less uncomfortable for Arthur, and wider, which allowed the moonlight to reach all the way down between the trees and light up the ground, allowing them to pick up their pace again.

Sir Bernard and Sir Melias rode in front, then Merlin, beside Gwaine who now held Arthur's horse, and Percival and Brennis made up the rear. They rode closer together than they usually would, forming a circle around Arthur.

"Two delegations have been attacked on this road in the last weeks," Sir Melias told them, looking about him into the woods as if he expected a herd of bandits to leap out at him any moment. Merlin saw him reach for his sword again. _Silly knights._

"No more people are getting hurt tonight," Merlin said, loud enough for all of them to hear him. "Except anyone who could be stupid enough to attack us."

Melias turned his head and looked at him. Whatever he saw, it made him put away his sword.

"You trust me now, do you?"

Melias shrugged.

"If Sir Bernard trusts you, that's more than enough for me," he said.

Next to him, Bernard scoffed.

"You should think on your own, Sir Melias."

"The way I hear it," Merlin said, "there are plenty of knights who have been letting sir Hector think for them lately."

Gwaine looked at him warningly.

"Merlin," he said, under his breath so that only Merlin could hear him, "as much as I agree with you, now isn't the time."

Merlin ignored him.

"Hector has always had a way of making people follow him," Bernard said. "It's half purse and half personality – a winning combination."

"I thought _you_ followed him," Merlin said.

Bernard didn't even turn to look at him.

"I follow Hector as long as I agree with him. Not a step further."

They fell back into silence.

IYîYîYîYI

_Arthur was falling. It was a dream, he knew that it was, but the knowledge made it no less frightening. He clawed around him to get a grip on something solid, something that belonged to the present, but all he touched and all he saw faded away from view like shiny coins sinking into muddy water, sparkling one last time before they disappeared, and sent him falling. He was falling through his life, through his memories and his nightmares, falling from one moment of horror to another. _

_He saw the horse that had panicked on the courtyard when he and Morgana had been children, and nearly ran Morgana over. He felt the heart stop in his chest like it had then, he saw the horse's hooves flail in the air, but he never saw the man who had pushed Morgana aside – he just saw the hooves falling, falling, and felt a sinking sensation in his stomach._

_He saw sand and nothing but sand coming up from the wells of Camelot, he saw fields of dead crops, and he heard Merlin telling him that it was his fault. He felt the guilt looming above him, waiting to crash down and suffocate him the moment he accepted it._

_He relived that moment in the tunnels under Hengist's castle when he had seen Guinevere's hands in Lancelot's and realised she would never really be his. He saw them riding out of Camelot together, and wondered if they would be safe, and if their paths had finally parted forever._

_He watched his father fade away slowly in front of him. He felt the powerlessness of not being able to help, the guilt when he selfishly worried about how he would manage the kingdom on his own, and the anger at his father for just sitting there at the window, wasting away, when life in Camelot still went on all around him and when there still were people who needed him, who loved him, who would miss him._

_He saw the dragon burning Camelot to cinders, and heard Merlin's weak plea in his ear: "I'm sorry."_

_He found himself back on that balcony in the great hall, watching from above as his father was brought to his knees in front of Morgana as she took her seat on the throne of Camelot. "_I'm your daughter, after all_." The shock and confusion hit him as hard in the dream as it had the first time, in real life. The memories flooded his mind, more colourful and vivid than then: "I'll marry you one day" – the sound of his own voice, young and squeaky in places. And then Morgana's haughty contempt, a tone she had only recently begun to practice back then: "Can you really promise things like that?" "Cross my heart and hope to die." "I hope you do." "No you don't." "You'd have to drag me up the isle kicking and screaming." "That can be arranged." _

_Had that been the time they'd kissed? No, but they had been about the same age – old enough to be offended when they were called children, young enough that no one stopped calling them that – and he had said he would marry her. He had been a prat about it and she had been teasing him, but they had both believed it. All those times they'd danced. All those times they'd stolen looks at each other, the leering, the flirting. All those _years._ Why hadn't Uther done something? That man kneeling, broken, in front of the throne? He was the king, for God's sake! How could he not have seen? How could he not have heard? How could he not have known that the entire court had expected his son and his daughter to marry? Maybe the gods had punished Uther for his inaction, in the end. "I am your daughter after all!" – the words would never stop resounding in his head. His _sister_. He was falling again, falling endlessly through darkness, unable to breathe. _

_And then there was Merlin. He watched Merlin clutch his throat and fall to the floor, a cup slipping out of his hand and making and unnaturally loud clanging sound against the stone. He saw Merlin disappearing out of his room, hunted by the guards after the accusations of the alleged Lady Katrina, and relived the agony of believing that he would never see his friend again. He was back in his room, waking up in his old bed and remembering that he'd all but raped his best friend, and wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. It did, and he fell: downwards, onwards._

_He stood in the great hall watching Merlin, his stumbling, clumsy, adorable manservant, change in a single moment: watching him melt away, turn into someone Arthur hadn't known existed. His Merlin disappearing in front of him, the ground disappearing under his feet. Falling again. He had never stopped falling. _

_He heard Merlin say that Arthur wouldn't survive a month without him, and realised that it sounded more like a promise than a threat, and he was falling. _

_He sat on Merlin's bed, cleaning his wounds and realising that he had done this to the man who meant more to him than anything, and he was falling. _

_He shied away from Merlin when the other man declared the extent of his power, felt fear and confusion and something else warring inside him, and he was falling. _

_He stood on the battlefield and watched as this new Merlin raised his hand just as Morgana threw herself over the druid boy. He felt the scream in his throat. He heard the agony in his own plea. He could have thrown himself in front of her, even then, even now; he could have ended up dead by Merlin's hand, from whatever spell he'd meant for her, for Mordred. It hadn't frightened him; it had seemed only right, in an odd way. He found himself thinking about it, now, as something poetic, dying by Merlin's hand, one day, when it was his time to go. He and Merlin, Merlin and him, that was how it was – why involve anyone else, even for that? But he wouldn't go that way. He saw it now, as he had seen it once before: he saw the dark field, his own heart's blood on a blade being pulled out of his body, and the agony in Merlin's eyes as he died in the wizard's arms, as the world went dark and he was falling. Falling, falling, always falling. _

_And then he stood on a green field. Remnants of walls stood around him, just enough left to allow him to identify it as the tattered remains of Camelot. Merlin sat in front of him, on a rock on the middle of the courtyard, but the sorcerer looked straight through him as if Arthur wasn't there. There was something off about him. His hair was black, his skin was smooth, but he looked ..._

_He looked old. So very, very old._

_Arthur noticed the landscape was changing around him. The walls crumbled further. Ivy and grass shot up with the speed of vipers, covering the rock, bringing out down. The colour of the grass seemed to flicker between green and brown as if entire seasons passed within the span of a second. Merlin didn't move. _

"_I'm sorry," someone whispered behind Arthur. He knew that voice anywhere. _Morgana.

_She slipped he hand into his, and he gripped it tight, suddenly overcome by terror. The last remnants of the citadel that had been his home since the day he was born disappeared into the ground like teeth growing backwards. Clouds hunted one another over the sky in a flickering, dizzying frenzy. Shadows of people moved around them, but no bodies. Merlin never moved, never blinked, just sat and stared blindly ahead of him._

"_I'm so, so sorry," Morgana repeated._

_Arthur felt himself begin to fall again. He clung to Morgana's hand._

"_We can't just leave him here alone!"_

"_I'm sorry."_

_He was falling, falling away from this place to some other point in this bizarre labyrinth. _

"_Promise we won't leave him here alone!"_

_Were those tears he saw in Morgana's eyes?_

"_I promise I won't."_

"_Promise me."_

_She disappeared from his view, but he heard her voice, soft and broken:_

"_Cross my heart and hope to die."_

_And now he was gone, now he fell, now he was falling, and there were stars around him, stars that turned into bright white grave stones, row upon endless row, and he feel through them, and it was hot; he was falling towards fire somewhere – but he was already burning._

IYîYîYîYI

By the time they reached a pass that Merlin recognised as being only a bit more than one day's journey from Camelot, clouds had begun to gather in front of the moon. It was only thin veils of mist yet, but it was already blocking out light, and down in the pass between two parallel ridges all light was needed.

"I wish we had torches," Percival muttered.

Merlin had been miles away.

"What did you say?"

"Torches. I wish we had some."

"Oh," Merlin said. "Sorry. I haven't been thinking properly."

He didn't even have to speak to cast this spell – he had mastered it a long time ago, when he had managed to trap himself inside Old Man Simmons' earth cellar. All it took was a moment of concentration, and translucent orbs of light appeared above them, lighting the path ahead and casting blue shadows among the trees that they rode between.

Bernard turned around and looked at him.

"Practical."

Merlin couldn't decipher whether he was complimenting him or being sarcastic.

"I guess it is, now," he replied. "I'm more used to thinking of it as begging to have my head cut off."

"I suppose that's a fair point," Bernard conceded in a grumpy tone.

Arthur stirred. Merlin's heart jumped into his throat again, and he watched Arthur in the blue light for any sign of improvement or deterioration. A voice of wild hope inside him told him Arthur was waking up, but that wasn't true. Maybe he was dreaming.

Merlin made a final attempt at the spell that had eluded him, and this time he could feel something in his arms, in his fingertips – the flow of power. Arthur stilled. Merlin rode closer and put his hand lightly on Arthur's forehead.

"Did it work this time?" Gwaine asked.

The relief that Merlin felt was almost embarrassing.

"Yes. I think it did."

IYîYîYîYI

They rode through the night without a single pause. The sunrise was about three hours away, and Camelot a couple of hours or so further after that, when Sir Brennis' horse refused to go any further.

"Go on without me," he said when they had all stopped. "I'll just walk a bit into the forest and rest until the sun goes up."

"We're not leaving you here alone!" Sir Melias said. "What about those attacks?"

"I'll stay with him," Percival offered and dismounted from his horse.

"Well," Gwaine said, "my question is how far are the rest of them going to go?"

Bernard turned to Merlin.

"I don't suppose you could do anything about the stamina of horses?"

Merlin could tell it pained him to ask. It pained Merlin to shake his head, too.

"I might be able to force them to go, but if I could, they'd probably fall down dead of exhaustion once we reached the courtyard, if not earlier."

Gwaine reached out and touched Arthur's forehead like Merlin had done earlier.

"You made him a bit better, right? He won't die on us if we stay here for an hour or two and get water and food for the horses, will he?"

"I don't think so, no," Merlin had to admit, even though the very thought of staying still and waiting was making him squirm in the saddle.

Gwaine looked at Sir Bernard. The elder knight seemed to be the one running this group at the moment.

"I don't like to gamble. Let's rest, but no longer than until sunrise."

So they stayed. Percival and Brennis went off to find water for the horses. The animals were supplying themselves with food; the grass was thick on the ground where they had stopped. Melias watched over them. Gwaine helped Merlin untie Arthur from his horse and lay him down on a blanket on the soft ground. Arthur's hair was damp and lay glued to his forehead. Merlin brushed a few strands to the side with his fingertips, and held his hand against Arthur's face – it was still hot to the touch, and he hoped his cold hands were soothing.

"I'll go get some firewood," Gwaine said, and made himself scarce.

Merlin pulled off his neckerchief, meaning to wet it and put it on Arthur's forehead to cool him down, but when he found his water flask he noticed it was empty. He had just put it away when someone dangled another flask in front of him.

"Here."

It was Sir Bernard. Merlin must have looked confused, but he accepted the flask and immediately began to open it.

"Thanks."

Bernard shrugged.

"Can I sit down for a moment?" he asked. "I won't keep you long."

A part of Merlin wanted to say no, wanted to be alone with Arthur, but another part was curious about the sudden change in the old man and, more urgently, didn't want to be alone at all.

Bernard sat down, but he didn't speak right away. Merlin didn't want to begin when he had no idea where he stood with the man, so he stayed silent and waited.

"You should never let people see you cry," Bernard said at last, looking at Arthur, not Merlin. "It might show that you have a good heart, but it also gives away where your weaknesses lie. And I'm afraid it will be a long time yet before you can afford to show weakness."

"Suddenly you believe I have a good heart?" Merlin asked, incredulous.

"I do. And I should apologize for my accusation. I truly believed I was right, but I have seen that I was wrong."

"What changed your mind?" Merlin asked.

Bernard turned his head to look at him, and smiled, a sad, tired smile.

"Your tears."

Despite himself, Merlin felt a bit insulted. Crying was exactly the sort of thing Arthur would mock him for – if he was awake.

"Why?" he said. "Because I'm not _manly _enough to be a threat?"

"No. Manliness has nothing to do with it; though, in the language of the stable boys, I think you have more balls than most of the men in Camelot."

Bernard paused for a while and looked down on Arthur's sleeping form again.

"You know," he said, "when I look at that man, even now when he's ill and unconscious, I see royalty. I'm old, so maybe I still see the Prince instead of the King, but even when he was a little boy and I was teaching him how to swing a sword, he was already higher in rank and power than me. There was nothing strange about it then and there isn't now. That is how the world works. Some men are chosen to have the power. And power is what most men see when they look at our sleeping friend here – especially his enemies. I thought it was what you saw as well: power you could use, or take."

He turned to Merlin.

"But no one cries the way you did over lost power."

Merlin didn't really know how to reply.

"I told you I don't care about those things."

"Anyone can say anything. Words are easy to fake, tears are harder. Not impossible, but harder. And if you had been faking, you would have played it differently. Tried to convince us you were weak, perhaps. Or even declared your emotions."

"My emotions?" Merlin said, straitening up, trying to look as if he had no idea what Bernard meant. He _had _no idea what Bernard meant. He couldn't be that transparent, could he? He hadn't even known he _had_ these emotions before two days ago!

Bernard studied him.

"What _do_ you see," he asked, "when you look at him?"

He gestured at Arthur, who lay unmoving and unhearing at their feet where they sat.

"My friend," Merlin said. "My best friend, who might be dying."

"Hm."

Merlin felt insulted again. Why did everyone presume he was lying all the time? Once a liar, always a liar, was that it?

"What does that mean?" he asked, a bit petulantly.

"Those tears," Bernard said, "that devotion of yours, the years you say you spent in hiding, only to protect that man – and you see him as ... a friend?"

Bernard raised an eyebrow at him, and Merlin felt a blush rise up his neck. He was glad the only light was that of one of his orbs of light, hovering over Arthur. The blue light wouldn't give too much away.

"I'm not ... We're not ... I'm not his lover," he said, acknowledging that he knew what the other man was thinking.

"But you love him?" Bernard asked, unfazed.

"Yes."

He hadn't meant to answer so bluntly, but there it was. He admitted that he loved Arthur, as more than a friend, more than a brother. More than anything.

A chill ran down Merlin's spine when he realised he had never actually told Arthur that. Perhaps he hadn't even hinted at it properly, not in words. Now Arthur was lying there motionless in front of him, with beads of sweat on his forehead and yet lips that were nearly blue, and Merlin might never get the chance to tell him – but still, if he opened his eyes right now, Merlin wasn't sure he'd be able to say the words out loud. Was that horrible of him? On the other hand, why did it need to be said, anyway?

"And he loves you?" Bernard continued.

"I think so." No, that wasn't true. Merlin knew better than that. "Yes, he does."

Bernard nodded.

"That's good."

He said it in the tone of a father giving his blessing to something. Merlin felt like he was about to cry again. Instead, a wry laugh escaped his lips.

"No," he said. "It really isn't."

Bernard laughed, and to Merlin's astonishment he slapped a hand down on Merlin's shoulder and shook it affectionately.

"What?" he asked, bewildered.

"The king and the mighty sorcerer," Bernard said, shaking his head. "I forget sometimes that you are both still so young. Trust an old man, young Merlin – it's better to let your heart burn to cinders for love than to go through life with a lump of ice in your chest."

Merlin wondered if it wasn't possible to do both.

"That's easy for you to say," he muttered.

"No," Bernard said, "it isn't. My heart turned to ashes a long, long time ago. And I used to wish the same thing you just did: that I had never loved at all. But I got wiser. I realised that I wouldn't have wanted to be without it. Without the memories. For a knight, and even more so for men like him and you, each new morning can be the last. Treasure the moments you get – even if they are painful."

This time Merlin found himself studying Bernard. He hadn't considered that the man had a story of his own, that there were motives other than fear and bigotry for why he had acted the way he did before, or other than regret and good manners for why he was apologising now. That look of pain in his eyes when he spoke – Merlin felt as if he was looking into a mirror. Or into his own future, perhaps.

Merlin looked around them to see if someone might be listening, but the only one who was anywhere near them was Gwaine, who had returned from his little mission and was only a few yards away, but who looked so focused on getting the fire started that Merlin didn't think he would hear what they said as long as they kept their voices down. Curiosity, and the desperate longing for someone who would understand, even if that someone turned out to be Sir Bernard, drove him to ask:

"Was it – the one you loved – was it a man?"

Bernard smiled.

"Yes. _He_ was."

Merlin studied the knight once more. He was a great big bear of a man, gruff and straightforward and nothing Merlin would ever have guessed a man who fancied other men could be. But then again, neither was Arthur. He probably fit the type a lot better himself, and yet he had never seen himself as someone who could love a man before. He still didn't – he just loved Arthur, that was all. Arthur and only Arthur, always.

"What happened?" he asked.

"He was killed by a sorcerer during the Great Purge."

"Oh."

There wasn't much else Merlin could say.

"I'm sorry," he added, in an even softer voice than before.

Bernard sighed.

"Well, I suppose that, seen from your perspective, the man was only trying to save his own life. But I didn't see it that way at the time."

"That's why you're so against magic," Merlin guessed.

Bernard made a little grimace.

"Partly, yes. But you see..." he paused. "How can I put it?" he muttered. "You have so much power, Merlin. You don't need fire, you don't need weapons – you can make the world bend to your will with the flick of your wrist. And all the rest of us can do is hope and pray that you're a good enough man to handle that power, because we cannot take it away from you. You have to be a better man than all the rest of us."

Merlin felt as if he had just had the weight of the world put back on his shoulders, and it had fallen down on them with a big old thump, knocking his breath away. In a funny way, Bernard reminded him of Kilgharrah – all those big words about destiny and ushering in a new age and being able to make the hard decisions that would get them there. Merlin remembered telling the dragon, the first time he'd met him: _"You've got the wrong person."_ That was what Bernard was worried about – that someone had given all that power to the wrong person. And who was Merlin to say he wasn't right?

"I know," Merlin said. "And I'm not sure I can be. But _I_ can't take this power away from myself either. I can only do my best."

Bernard smiled again.

"But you're doing your best for _him_, not for _yourself_. That's enough for me."

"I wish it was enough for the rest of the knights too," Merlin admitted.

"They're just scared, they'll get over it in time," Bernard said, unknowingly quoting Arthur.

"Hector isn't scared," Merlin pointed out. "And he doesn't care about the moral obligations connected to the power of magic, either. He's just after the throne."

Bernard's face sagged. His entire form fell forward a bit.

"I haven't wanted to believe that," he said. "But I suppose I should be old enough to know that what's true is true whether I like it or not."

"I know he's your friend," Merlin said, though in his mind he added to himself that he certainly couldn't understand why. Unless...?

"Well, you know what they say," Bernard said with a sigh, "'friendships are like wine, they get finer with age. But no one ever mentions that they can turn into vinegar, too. Sometimes men change so slowly that your tie to them never breaks, it just ... goes sour. Hector was never the best of men. But he was a better man than he is."

He looked Merlin in the eye.

"You can leave Hector to me."

"I can?" Merlin asked, taken aback. Even after all they'd just revealed to each other, that statement surprised him.

"Young man," Bernard said, lecturing him again, "my views on magic are one thing, but I have never wanted to see anyone but Arthur Pendragon on the throne of Camelot."

"Me neither," Merlin said.

"I suppose we have both misjudged one another on that point. Now, I'm going to lie down for a while before we keep going," Bernard said and began to heave himself up from the ground. "I'll leave you two alone."

He stood up and reached out a hand to Merlin.

"It's been a pleasure to be wrong about you, master Merlin."

They shook hands.

"Likewise."

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin watched as Bernard walked over to the fire, which Gwaine had finally got going, and began to roll out a blanket on the ground. The others returned, Melias from tying up the horses that had pretty much eaten themselves asleep, and Brennis and Percival from their expedition for water, with full flasks and skins. Gwaine threw a rolled up blanket at Percival.

Gwaine and Bernard. Both of them had looked at Merlin, seen how he acted around Arthur, and assumed that the two were lovers. Yet Merlin had never even thought about sleeping with Arthur, except when he had realised that Arthur wanted to sleep with him, and even then he had chased the thought out of his mind as quick as he could.

He thought about it now.

The concept of sharing a bed with Arthur, of sleeping together in the literal sense, appealed to Merlin for reasons that were probably a bit unhealthy: it appealed to him because of the idea of never leaving Arthur's side; of being able to see, first thing when he woke up in the morning, that Arthur was alright; and of being able to reach out and grab him for reassurance in the middle of the night. No more walking out the door when he could tell that Arthur was sad or angry or brooding over something. No more lying alone in his own bed in the other end of the castle, wondering if some enemy, new or old, would chose this night to make their move.

But then there was the figurative meaning of sleeping with someone. The desire Arthur had admitted that he felt for Merlin. The desire that had driven him to kiss Merlin and pull him into bed, whispering pleadings in Merlin's ears that Merlin would never forget, before he had, mercifully, passed out. That kind of desire felt foreign to Merlin. Passion and lust weren't words he connected with himself. He could long for a touch, or a hug. He had wanted to kiss Arthur in the moonlit staircase. But it hadn't overpowered him, it hadn't made him forget his senses like it seemed to have affected Arthur that time, and what was more: he hadn't thought further than a kiss. He could hardly imagine undressing in front of another person. Well, he had done, of course, often, to change his clothes or to go swimming. But to undress in front of someone, to have them undress in front of you, because you meant to get intimate – that was something else, and the slight thrill of the thought paled in comparison with the fear of it. Having undressed, the idea of touching someone else, not just stroking their cheek or kissing their neck but touching someone else's private parts – well, it seemed unhygienic if nothing else (although he'd have to admit there was probably no person in Camelot who kept cleaner than Arthur, so that wasn't much of an argument). Merlin barely touched his own, these days, except to pee or clean himself. He didn't know when he had become so sexless, but he had.

So although his heart beat so hard that he thought his ribcage would break when Arthur held him or hugged him, although Arthur's embrace felt like home, Merlin didn't know if he could reciprocate the desire and passion that Arthur so obviously felt. Even if it turned out that he would find such activities pleasant, it wasn't exactly something that made him hard just thinking about it, now. On the other hand, he couldn't really achieve that thinking about a woman either (although he certainly had when he was younger than now), so _that_ wasn't the problem. He just didn't know what he had to offer. He didn't know if he could be Arthur's lover – to use the language of the stable boys, as Bernard had called it, he wasn't sure he had the balls.

Then again, he could give in to that fear and stay away from Arthur. They could learn to live like this, close but apart. They would stay just good friends. That would be safe. That didn't involve panic or anxiety or embarrassment. And then, he thought, sooner or later, he would watch as Arthur took another wife. And there Merlin would be, unable to say anything because he had made his choice. He would have to see Arthur kiss some random woman – not someone that both he and Arthur had known and cherished for a long time, but a stranger. He would have to live with the knowledge that Arthur took her to bed in the evenings, that she touched Arthur's naked skin in the night, and when Merlin knocked on Arthur's door in the morning (if he learned to knock) she would be there in that room. Merlin might not be filled with desire over Arthur, but to let him fall into the arms of someone else, after everything – everything Merlin had given up, everything he had endured to be with Arthur – it shouldn't feel wrong, or painful, but it did. And that woman, whoever she would turn out to be, would talk to Merlin as if _she _was the one closest to Arthur, she would nurse Arthur if he got sick or wounded like he was now, and push Merlin out of the room...

Merlin felt something threatening to break inside him at that thought. He took Arthur's clammy hand in his, and, almost as an experiment, brought it to his mouth and kissed it. The skin was surprisingly soft._ That is not going to happen, Arthur. Not ever._ He knew it should, for Camelot's sake. A king couldn't go unmarried for long, not when he didn't have an heir. Merlin knew it – but he didn't care. He didn't care if he was being selfish, or possessive. He would let nothing come between him and Arthur: no unnamed woman, no ambitious old knights, not even the good of Camelot.

_Certainly no such commonplace thing as a simple bloody snake, _he thought.

Merlin glanced towards the fire, where everyone had fallen asleep except Gwaine who standing – or rather sitting – guard. Gwaine was not looking his way – and even if he did, it was Gwaine, so it didn't really matter.

Quietly and carefully, he lay himself down next to Arthur, so close that his chest touched Arthur's back and he could feel through the soaked tunic how unnaturally warm Arthur was. For a while it got harder to breathe – half from the fear, half from the intimacy.

They had slept almost as close as this, on some of the expeditions they had done where it had been just the two of them, sharing warmth in the night. Merlin had always liked those nights. He had felt safe, feeling Arthur's presence beside him. Knowing that _Arthur_ was safe. Once or twice he had woken up after those nights to find that Arthur had thrown his arm over Merlin's waist and buried his face between Merlin's shoulder blades, as if in his sleep he was trying to hide from the world. Merlin had always woken with a smile those mornings. He had never really thought about why.

What was it Gwaine had said: _"Merlin ... are you sure you're not just as in love with him?" _Merlin thought of how Gwaine must have been laughing at his vehement denial. He had been right, hadn't he? This wasn't something that had come over Merlin all of a sudden a couple of nights ago. Merlin had been blind, and Arthur might have been blind too, but Gwaine had seen it along, and now Merlin saw it: he saw that for years on end, his world had consisted of Arthur, and Arthur alone; that for years, he had been prepared to break his own moral principles, even to kill, not just to protect Arthur but to keep his own place by Arthur's side; that for years, he had had no other goal in life than to remain by Arthur's side always; that for years, he had been prepared to _die_ for Arthur; that for years, the prettiest ladies in Albion could have paraded by him and he wouldn't even have noticed; that for years, nothing had been able to make his heart skip quite the way it did when Arthur paid him an honest compliment, and nothing had been able to put peace in that heart and a smile on his lips quite the way that the sight of Arthur's smile could.

_"And you have never been head over heels in love with anyone,"_ Gwaine had said. _"I wonder why that is."_

Despite the present situation, despite everything, Merlin had to smile at himself. What an idiot he had been.

He leaned in and inhaled Arthur's smell: something reminiscent of pine needles and birch sap under the sweat and dirt. Then he placed a light kiss on the King's neck.

"Don't you dare leave me. You're not going to go anywhere without me, do you hear me?" he whispered, trying to will it so. "Not ever again."

IYîYîYîYI

_Arthur was falling. It was a dream, he knew that it was, but the knowledge made it no less frightening. He fell from the highest tower of the citadel to the black fire that burned below, dark flames burning with an infernal heat. As he fell, the dragon appeared above him, and its great leathery wings blocked out the moon and the stars, plunging him into darkness. He felt the fire begin to burn him, burn the skin off his flesh and the flesh off his bones, and all he could see as it did was the shining eyes of the dragon, and the glint of its teeth as it opened up its jaws to swallow him whole._

_But then he was up on the citadel again, and falling off of it again, and he could hear the hoots of a night owl and if he only tried he could reach up and grab something, pull himself up again, he knew he could..._

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur struggled to wake all the way up and escape the nightmares, but he could barely open his eyes. His head was still full of mist, and it felt as if weights were pulling his mind back down. He became aware that there was a warm presence behind him, but even though he felt as if his body was being consumed by flames the feeling seemed to soothe his discomfort instead of add to it. It lulled him back to sleep. He had almost fallen back into the black fire when the realisation came to him that the warmth was a person.

"Merlin?"

The name escaped his dry lips in a mumble, like a desperate prayer. Why would it be Merlin? But then, why would it be anyone else?

A blissfully cool hand caressed his forehead.

"Sch. Just rest. I'll get you some water."

Arthur barely had time to register joy and relief at hearing Merlin's voice, before that blessed warmth disappeared and he felt as if he was floating in a chilling black void, torn out of the world. Then a hand slipped under his neck and helped him to raise his head, and cold water trickled into his mouth. For a moment it felt as if he was drinking the nectar of the gods and would be immediately cured, but the fever did not relent as easily as that. Merlin lowered his head back down, and Arthur had a second to fear the return of the black void before an arm slipped around his waist and pulled him towards the other man's body. When Merlin spoke to him, he was so close that Arthur could feel the movements of Merlin's lips tickling against his neck.

"Just sleep. You'll be fine. Everything will be fine, Arthur."

IYîYîYîYI

_Arthur fell, fell from the highest tower of the citadel to the black fire that burned below, dark flames burning with an infernal heat. As he fell, the dragon appeared above him, and its great leathery wings blocked out the moon and the stars. But then Merlin's voice boomed across the sky, deep and surreal, in a language Arthur had never heard, and the dragon roared and left._

_He was still being scorched by the black fire, he still tried in vain to twist and turn his way out of the flames, but now Merlin's voice was there with him: "Don't you dare leave me. __You're not going to go anywhere without me, do you hear me?"_

"_Yes, sire," he tried to joke, but his mouth was to dry and the heat to distracting. Then a few more soft words were spoken in his ear, and at last there was only silence and darkness and blessed sleep._

IYîYîYîYI


	60. The King and the Wizard

**A/N:** _Dear lord, it's over._ 0.o_ One year, six months, five days, 281 pages and more than 137 000 words (sans A/N's) later. Oh, my dear angelically patient readers! _

_I have something to ask. This might sound terribly conceited, but here goes: has anyone made, or would like to make, __**artwork**__ for this story? __**I'm putting together a pfd-file**__ of the edited version of this story (getting rid of the embarrassing spelling mistakes, minor inconsistencies, and endless author's notes) __**in time for Christmas**__, and would love to be able to add some illustrations. Naturally, I'll give credit where credit is due and link to you. (But, of course, don't send me stuff that isn't yours. Or that's very NSFW.) PM me, ok?_

_On that note, this is also your last chance to point out any of those odd errors or inconsistencies that you think I can correct. (If it's something huge, it's probably kinder not to tell me at this point.)_

_So, for like, all this series I've tried to avoid quoting the song that introduces this chapter, because I felt it was too camp for this story. But, damnit, I tried to find something else that fitted with this chapter, and nothing was half as good. (I grew up on ABBA, ok? I can't be expected to resist campiness. )_

* * *

><p><span>IYîYîYîYI<span>

"_Once I believed that when love came to me  
>It would come with rockets, bells and poetry<br>But with me and you  
>it just started quietly and grew<em>

_[...]  
><em>

_I don't feel all turned on and starry-eyed_  
><em>I just feel a sweet contentment deep inside<em>  
><em>Holding you at night<em>  
><em>just seems kind of natural and right<em>  
><em>And it's not hard to see<em>  
><em>that it isn't half of what it's gonna turn out to be"<em>

**- Mama Cass,**_** It's Getting Better**_

IYîYîYîYI

**The King and the Wizard**

Merlin didn't get much sleep. Every time he was about to drift away, the smallest of movements or sounds from Arthur cut through his daze and brought him back to alertness. When Gwaine shook his shoulder and told him it was time to go, he could have sworn that he hadn't slept at all, or a few minutes at the most, but the soft grey light that had begun to seep through the foliage told a different story.

Concern and amusement seemed to be fighting a war over Gwaine's face as he looked down at Merlin, and it took a moment for Merlin to realise why that should be.

"I thought I'd wake you before the others saw you like this," Gwaine said. "I don't know why Bernard changed his mind about you yesterday, but it's probably better not to put any ideas in their heads before we've made it back home, eh?"

Merlin felt an almost physical pain at letting go of the warm body in his arms, but he did so and sat up anyway.

"Nice speech you made yesterday, by the way," Gwaine said.

"What?"

"You know, about how Arthur's all you live for, and all earthly power fades in comparison to what you feel for him. Sounded almost, I don't know ... head over heels?" Gwaine grinned.

"I think you're embellishing that a bit," Merlin noted. "And you don't have to look so bloody smug."

Gwaine shrugged.

"Is he getting any better?" he asked, smoothly changing the subject, and Merlin instantly forgot everything else.

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin barely remembered how they got from their provisional campsite to Camelot. He noticed, distantly, when Gwaine rode ahead to alert Gaius and Alice that they were coming, and then there seemed to be a big blank in his memory until the moment when they rode into the courtyard, and the physicians stood there waiting. Alice took a quick look at Arthur right there and told them to carry him up to his room. She followed them up the stairs.

Merlin never moved further that an arm's length away from Arthur. He was aware that he was probably only being in the way, but he couldn't bring himself to back off and no one asked him to. Alice looked as if she was about to, at first, but after their eyes met for a moment she stayed quiet.

He didn't notice when the others left. There had been some talking going on in the background and suddenly everyone was gone – except for Gwaine, who had fallen asleep on a chair, in an awkward sitting position, the moment they had put Arthur down on the bed. Eventually, Elyan came and shook Gwaine awake, too, and Merlin was left alone with Alice and Arthur.

Alice had begun by mixing some sort of potion that she poured drop by drop into Arthur's mouth, and had then moved on to clean and treat the wound and blisters on his leg. Merlin watched her work her mixture of medicine and magic, and tried to commit as much as possible of it to memory, but most of it was like a foreign language to him. Alice was the master of her field.

Eventually she leant back and looked at him.

"I'm going to sit with him a while, so I can adapt the treatment to his reactions to it. So you don't have to feel that you're leaving him alone, if you go and do something else."

"Like what?" Merlin asked. He didn't even want to take his eyes off Arthur, much less leave the room.

Alice gave him a look of slightly condescending concern that she must have either picked up from Gaius or he from her.

"Wash away the dust of the road maybe? Get something to eat? Go on. He'll be fine, now, but he definitely won't wake up in the next couple of hours. Go and come back later."

Merlin's stomach grumbled at the mention of food. He hesitated.

"Are you sure he won't wake up?"

Alice smiled at him and put a hand on his arm.

"He really means a lot to you, doesn't he?"

The only thing Merlin needed to consider in order to answer that question was what he wanted to tell Alice, and even that didn't take long to decide.

"He means the world to me."

"Well, your world will be here when you get back, still snoring away. The tincture I gave him alone is enough to keep him under till the stars come out. Now go! Shoo! Look after yourself for a while."

IYîYîYîYI

Alice's friendly but stern persuasion finally made him leave the room and head up the stairs and hallways that led to his own, and to a bowl full of water and a change of clothes. He felt like a new person after he had washed himself. He looked longingly at the bed for a moment, but decided against it. He had promised both Arthur and Alice to return, and it was the middle of the day, anyway.

Setting off again to find food, he went down several flights of stairs to get to the kitchens at the very bottom of the castle. He had barely rounded the corner at the bottom of the staircase before he ran into Gwaine, talking to Elyan. Gwaine noticed him first.

"Merlin! There you are, looking a good deal better. Are you going to be alright?"

Gwaine certainly looked as if his short nap had heightened his spirits no end. Or perhaps this was just another degree of tiredness.

Elyan smiled and shook his head.

"I think what Gwaine means to ask is will Arthur be alright?"

Gwaine pretended to look confused.

"I thought that was what I _did_ ask." He turned to Merlin. "That's the same thing, right?"

Merlin ignored him.

"He'll be fine, Alice tells me. He'll just be asleep a while longer."

"Good," Elyan said, and then after a short pause he added: "_Are_ you okay, though? I didn't mean to sound like I don't care, I was just teasing Gwaine."

"I told you," Gwaine interrupted before Merlin could answer, "it's the same thing."

"I suppose in this case it is," Merlin admitted. "Except I'm more hungry than sleepy."

Elyan's face lit up.

"Then you should go over to Gaius' place, they were having this delicious roast chicken, if you hurry there's probably still some left."

Maybe it was just the events of the last day or two, but the mention of the physician made Merlin worry.

"What were you doing there? Are you ill?"

"Ill?" Elyan looked surprised and confused.

Gwaine laughed.

"Oh, he's ill alright!"

Elyan looked between the two of them.

"No, no, I'm not ..."

"Oh, he is," Gwaine grinned, "he's positively dying. He's got it real bad."

Elyan looked like he didn't know whether to punch Gwaine or run away.

"Shut up!"

"And it's going to take a very special physician to cure him, too," Gwaine continued.

It took a while for Merlin's tired brain to catch up.

"You're in love with Emma?" he blurted out when it did, probably sounding a whole lot less approving than he was.

"_In love with_?" Elyan spluttered, as Gwaine went back to laughing. "I only just talked to her for the first time a few days ago!"

"And he's head over heels already!" Gwaine stated and slung his arm around Elyan's shoulders, shaking his head. "It's a sad story."

"I _like_ her!" Elyan said. "A little. _Maybe_."

"He wants to ride off into the sunset with her and buy a little cottage and have lots of babies. Isn't it just revolting?"

Elyan shoved Gwaine away.

"You're insufferable," he huffed, but Merlin could tell that he was fighting a smile.

Gwaine laughed like this was the funniest thing that had ever happened, and Merlin found himself laughing along in spite of himself. He could feel all the anxiety of the last day and night finally letting go of him, and it wasn't doing his composure any favours. His legs felt like they were getting wobbly too, but he fought to stay upright.

"The only place I'm going is the council chambers," Elyan added. "Now. Goodbye."

Gwaine collected himself. "Oh, you're not getting rid of me that easily. We're heading in the same direction, remember?"

"Why?" Merlin asked when he had taken a couple of deep breaths. "What's in the council chambers?"

"Leon's called a meeting for the knights to tell everyone what happened before they start making up their own theories," Gwaine said, turning serious. "Also it seemed Bernard had something he wanted to say."

Gwaine studied Merlin as if he expected an explanation from him. Merlin shrugged. He didn't know what Bernard would say – he doubted he'd recount their discussion to the other knights.

"You should probably go then," he said.

Gwaine smiled and slapped Merlin's shoulder hard enough to almost send Merlin flying.

"And you should go get something to eat. You look like you're about to keel over," the knight said with a smile, and Merlin bit back a comment about whose fault that would be.

"Yeah, I will," he said instead, and watched his friends head off.

He felt torn. On the one hand, his body was crying out for food. On the other, he really wanted to listen in on that meeting, to hear if Bernard really could make good on his promise.

He heard the sound of steps coming down the stairs behind him, and turned to see that unfortunate boy, Wart, balancing a dangerously high pile of dirty dishes, clearly heading for the kitchens like Merlin had been.

"Hey! Excuse me!" Merlin called – something he instantly regretted as the boy gave a little yelp of surprise, lost his balance, swayed for a moment, and finally fell forward with a much louder yelp, accompanied by the jingling sound of cutlery, plates and pots hurling through the air.

Any other person, standing at the bottom of those stairs at that moment, would have ended up half crushed under a pile of dishes and a clumsy boy. For Merlin, it was the work of a moment to slow the whole thing down, make the dishes collect themselves into a much neater, more stable pile than before, and catch the boy in his arms.

"Easy does it. I didn't mean to frighten you," he said when everything snapped back into normal time and speed. He waited until the boy found his footing again and let him go.

"Wart, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," the boy mumbled. "Sorry, sir."

He bowed and curtsied in a way that would have made Merlin deeply uncomfortable if it hadn't been so poorly executed that it became amusing instead.

"Oh, don't apologise to me. If you have to apologise to someone, apologise to those plates and pots. They never did you any harm, did they?"

Merlin was grinning, but that probably escaped the boy who was staring at the floor and blushing profusely.

"No, sir. I'm dreadfully sorry, sir."

"Wart, it's alright. You can look at me. I'm not angry and I'm not going to bite you. I'm just a servant boy too, from the beginning, remember?"

Did he remember? Had they run across each other in the hallways before? It all depended on how young a child Wart had been when he'd begun working as a servant. He was still young enough that his voice hadn't dropped yet, but it probably would any moment he relaxed long enough to let it. Either way, the words made the boy look up at him, eyes wide in wonder.

"Oh but you were never really, sir. You were always a sorcerer, weren't you?"

His mouth snapped shut the moment he'd said it, and his eyes grew even wider at his own audacity.

"I suppose I was. But that didn't stop old Margret down in the kitchens from thrashing me whenever I broke something, though."

The boy looked around him guiltily, then whispered:

"The other boys call her the Troll Queen, like that thing that came and got married to King Uther, long ago."

_Long ago?_ Merlin wanted to protest, but he supposed to a child it was nearly half a lifetime ago. It made him feel even more tired.

"Listen, Wart, will you do me a favour?"

Wart snapped to attention.

"Anything I can, sir."

Merlin took in this rare feeling of being listened to and obeyed unquestioningly.

"You really trust me, don't you?" he asked.

"Of course, sir!"

Merlin wished he'd stop calling him that.

"Why? Aren't you scared of me like the others?"

"Oh, a little, sir. But I reckon you don't have much reason to hurt someone like me. And I have to trust you, because the King does. They say he trusts you more than he trusts himself."

Merlin was about to say "Oh they do, do they?" when he realised that Wart didn't see this as a slur on Arthur, but as a compliment to Merlin. He felt his smile grow again.

"Well, do me this favour then. Take those dishes down to the kitchens, and when you're done, collect some food for me – ask Helen, she's always generous – and bring it to the servants' tunnel that comes out behind the western tapestry in the council chambers. But be quiet."

The colour on the boy's cheeks rose again when he realised he was being let in on a secret.

"Yes sir! Right away, sir!"

"And call me Merlin, please."

The boy blushed again as he picked up the dishes.

"Absolutely, sir Merlin."

Merlin watched the boy run away at a pace likely to send him flying again before he reached the kitchen door, and didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

IYîYîYîYI

The servants' tunnels in the old parts of the citadel were dark and damp, and rarely used due to the risk of falling – falling and not being found in ages. Merlin didn't meet a soul on his way to the council chambers. When he got nearer to the opening behind the western tapestry, he could hear the voices of the knights, talking animatedly. He crept closer, sat down on the stone floor just behind the tapestry, and listened.

"I was afraid something like this would happen." Hector's voice. "I warned against letting the sorcerer stay, I warned that he'd turn on us, and now look what's happened: he joins an ordinary hunting trip and the King comes back unconscious – _dying_."

"The King will be fine, Hector." Leon's voice, dry as sand. "Alice guarantees it."

"_Another magic user_ guarantees it."

There was the sound of people mumbling in what sounded like cautious agreement.

"You have no reason to mistrust either the boy or the woman." Merlin recognised Bernard's voice. "The King was bitten by a snake. What will you have us do – kill every snake in the forest?"

Someone chuckled. Gwaine perhaps.

"You have only their word on that. What is the word of a sorcerer worth?"

Again there was the soft murmur of agreement. It might have been only three or four voices. It might have been ten or fifteen.

"As much as your word, Sir Hector," Gwaine said.

"Then heed my word when I tell you that this cannot be a coincidence – for this to happen now, after everything that has already taken place. I tell you that sorcerer has just been waiting to strike when all other obstacles had been cleared out of his way. Is it a coincidence that this happens when the two main contenders for the throne – the Queen and the Lady Morgana – are no longer in the picture? The man is after the crown."

"_You_ are after crown, Hector," Sir Bernard said. His voice sounded like frost on glass – cold, dry and sharp.

"Pardon?"

Merlin wished there was some tear in the tapestry through which he could see Hector's expression. He debated with himself whether he should make one, but decided against taking the risk.

"You," Bernard said. "You keep talking about the King and the kingdom being in danger, trying to spread fear around you, when there is no proof of any such danger. There is no great threat to Camelot now any more than there was in Uther's time! Its citizens are not worse off, our power and influence in Albion has not decreased."

"No proof?" Hector said. "Then why are we standing here? Why does the king's life or death depend on the help of magic users as we speak?"

"Perhaps because they are the ones most capable of helping," Bernard said.

"You don't believe that!" Hector sounded honestly surprised. "I saw you during the great purge, Sir Bernard. Many knights felt troubled back then, at hunting down women and children and paupers and bringing them to their painful deaths, but not you. You did anything you were told to do with the most single-minded conviction I've ever witnessed. I saw you cut the throat of a boy much younger than the one you're defending now, and you didn't even blink."

"I was young and foolish and filled with anger."

_And pain_, Merlin thought, even though Hector's words had sent a chill down his spine.

"No," Hector insisted, "you _knew_. You knew that magic is evil. You knew that it can never be trusted, and a few weeks ago, you still knew the truth. Now all of a sudden you've changed your tune? What did the sorcerer do to _you_?"

The sound of a tray being placed on the stone floor made Merlin turn around. It was Wart who had appeared with uncharacteristic silence. The boy was about to turn back again, but Merlin gestured to him to stay quiet and sit down. They grabbed a slice each of the pie on the tray and listened to the voices outside.

"A sword is not evil," Bernard was saying. "A sword cannot be trusted or distrusted. It is the man who wields it that you must get the measure of. It is him you must fear, or trust, or both. You are trying to wield a sword that is too heavy for you, Hector, and it doesn't become you and neither do I trust you with it. So yes, I would rather put the kingdom in the boy's hands than in yours – because I have seen that he has something you never have possessed, nor ever will."

"Power?" Hector said. "You call me ambitious, when you yourself would instantly run to the aid of whoever you deem most powerful?"

"Humility," Bernard continued as if there had been no interruption. "And, for that matter, dignity."

"You dare ...!" Hector began, his voice simmering with wrath. Merlin saw Wart almost cowering at the sound, and tried to calm him with a smile. Hector's anger was a sign that he was losing control of the conversation.

"Yes, I dare," Bernard interrupted his opponent. "Why shouldn't I dare? What threat are you to me? Can your gold fly out of its coffins and kill me? Because your hands could not." Again, someone laughed quietly. Merlin imagined Hector's face would be quite a vivid shade of red by now. "You overestimate your own importance, Hector. There was a time when men like you and your father, men with gold, could help men to the throne and kick them down from it when it suited them. But King Arthur is not one of those kings. You're not scared of magic – you're scared because in this court, the word of a man with gold is not worth more than the word of a knight, or a servant girl, or a peasant boy, or, for that matter, a sorcerer. And what is more, you are not interested in loyalty, or following the Knights' Code._ I_ saw _you_, Sir Hector, be accused by the King himself of not showing him due loyalty and respect, and _you _didn't even blink then. Do you believe that these knights will follow you against the King? Against the King's law? That they will take up arms against the man they have sworn allegiance to because you tell them a tale of horror or two? Well, is he right?" Bernard continued in a more booming voice. "Are there such men in this room? Are there such cowards and traitors among the Knights of Camelot as Sir Hector imagines? Because if that is so, then this kingdom is truly in danger."

Merlin and Wart both had to stop eating for fear of being heard – the silence that settled in the room beside them was so complete.

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin didn't need to hear more after that. When it was safe to do so he quietly crept out of the room, followed by Wart, with a smile on his lips. Wart disappeared off in the direction of the kitchens again, and Merlin returned through servants' corridors and open hallways to Arthur's room. True to her word, Alice was still there, but she had taken her eyes of her charge and sat reading by the fire. She looked up when Merlin came in, and smiled at him.

"There you are," she said. "I thought you wouldn't stay away long."

She closed her book and rose from the chair.

"How is he?" Merlin asked.

"Better already. By the morning he should be completely recovered. Though he might have a limp for a couple of days. You really should have turned back to Camelot sooner."

"I know. But that's Arthur – he's a stubborn ass sometimes."

Alice chuckled a bit, then clamped her hand over her mouth as if she was shocked at her own audacity.

"Does he know you speak about him like that?" she asked.

"Yes. It's alright, he doesn't mind. Not when it's me."

"Well," Alice said, "He doesn't need my help anymore. I'll be downstairs. Gaius or I'll come back in the morning and check on him. Don't forget to get some sleep. You need it."

"I'll just stay a while," Merlin said non-committally.

Alice nodded, patted his shoulder and left. Merlin walked over to the bed.

The dirt and dry leaves that had been stuck in Arthur's hair when they got back had been washed away. His cheeks were a bit rosier than usual, but apart from that he looked just as he had looked every morning Merlin had come to wake him up. It had been a while since that had been one of Merlin's chores, and he suddenly found he missed it desperately – all the times he had been tempted to pour water over Arthur's stubborn head because the then-prince refused to get up, all the times Arthur had buried that blonde head under the pillows and growled at him to leave him alone – Arthur was always at his most graceless when he had just woken up, and always at his most graceful just before. He looked so peaceful, asleep. He looked young – almost child-like.

Merlin remembered that he had asked himself if he would ever see Arthur looking young again. Now here he was. Maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be all right. He brushed a non-existent strand of hair away from Arthur's closed eyes and realised he was smiling.

Taking care to be quiet, he took off his boots and lay down on top of the covers next to Arthur, just studying the other man's face.

After a while his eyes drifted shut, and he must have fallen asleep, because when there was a knock on the door it startled him so badly that he almost fell out of the bed, and the light in the room seemed different than it had right before.

He walked up to the door and looked out to find, to his surprise, that Sir Hector was standing outside.

"Oh," the knight said. "_You_."

"Sir Hector," Merlin replied.

"I wanted to see if the King was awake."

"Not yet," Merlin said.

Hector shifted from one foot to another, frowning at him. Merlin didn't open the door any further.

"Do you want me to take a message?" he asked, sharply.

Hector straightened up.

"I wanted to tell him that my family has written and begged me to return. I will be leaving at dawn tomorrow."

"Really," Merlin said. _You're a good liar, I'll give you that_, he thought.

"Yes," Hector replied, shifting a bit again. He looked past Merlin's shoulder, and Merlin fought the impulse to block his view so that he wouldn't see Arthur. Hector turned back to Merlin. "Though it pains me to leave Camelot's fate in the hands of people like you."

Something in the way he said it told Merlin that the man in front of him had given up, not just on the plan he'd had, but on ever attempting to make any more like it. Merlin had never been partial to gloating, but he couldn't have denied that there was almost a flutter in his stomach. He felt as if he was growing taller. He felt as if he could say whatever he wanted to this man. What did it matter now? He was finally leaving. Merlin had won.

"You really loathe me, don't you?" he asked. "It's not just an act."

"No," Hector said, not looking the slightest bit embarrassed about _that_ confession.

"But is it about magic? Or is it really just about power? About the fact that a peasant boy from the other side of the border has his confidence, and a noble from this side doesn't?"

Hector seemed to consider this for a while. Maybe he was deciding how honest he wanted to be.

"I would say that it is all of those things. I do think you're dangerous. I do think you're more influential than those other thickheads realise, and I do believe it's undeserved. And as if that wasn't enough, you simply had to be so ..." he seemed to search for the right word. "..._ young,_" he settled on, speaking the word as if it was the name of a disease. "But I suppose there's some solace in knowing that that, at least, will pass. Goodbye,_ Marvin._"

Merlin didn't bother to correct him. They both knew that Hector knew his name perfectly well.

IYîYîYîYI

When Hector had gone away, Merlin locked the door behind him, and went back to the bed. Through the window he could see the sky slowly being painted in streaks of pink and yellow. Even though dark fell earlier and earlier this season, he still must have slept a long time. There was an extra blanket that lay folded at Arthur's feet, and Merlin pulled it up over himself.

"Everything is going to be fine, Arthur," he whispered. It didn't matter if Arthur couldn't hear him, he needed to say it. Arthur's hand lay on top of the covers, and Merlin reached out and took it. It was warm in his. For a moment there was a lump in his throat. "It's finally going to be fine," he continued. "When you wake up tomorrow, Hector will be gone, and his followers, if they haven't changed their minds, won't dare to say anything more. And I will be here."

He snuggled down deeper under the blanket, and shifted closer to Arthur without letting go of his hand. His eyelids already felt heavy again.

"You're going to be the King I always knew you'd be. You'll be fair, and just, and kind, and loved. You will unite Albion, and there will be peace and prosperity. Magic will help you instead of hinder you. So many people have been waiting for this so long. Much longer than you'd believe. There's a golden age coming that was prophesised before you or I were born, and you're the one who'll bring it along. You'll be a legend. You'll be remembered for generations to come. And I will be here, by your side, protecting you, like I always am. Like I always have been and always will be. Because I still believe in you. And because I love you."

IYîYîYîYI

Arthur stretched. One of his arms felt numb, as if he'd been sleeping on it for too long. One of his legs was throbbing, and so was his head. His shoulders were cold. He tried to pull his covers up, but they seemed to be stuck. He opened his eyes.

He blinked. The sight that greeted him didn't change.

Next to him in the bed, captured in the moonlight, Merlin lay sleeping, fully clothed and half covered by a blanket. Arthur could hear the soft, regular breaths and he could even feel each exhalation that passed between Merlin's slightly parted lips. Was this a dream? Arthur knew he had been dreaming. Merlin had been in those dreams, too. He disentangled his arm from the covers and reached out to touch Merlin's face, softly, just to make sure he was really there. He caressed Merlin's cheek. There was barely a hint of stubble on the soft skin underneath his fingers. The illusion of youth, innocence and harmlessness that Merlin had always been so good at keeping up was perfected in his sleep. Arthur tried to see any sign of the power, strength and wisdom he knew was there under the surface, but none of it showed – not until Merlin's eyes opened, slowly, and met his.

_"You're awake," _Arthur meant to say. "You're real," was what came out.

Merlin smiled at him, and Arthur's heart instantly sped up.

"You're awake," Merlin said, stealing Arthur's original line.

"I thought ... I was dreaming. Earlier. I dreamt ..." what had he dreamt? He couldn't recall anymore. He tried to remember, but the more he reached for it the further out of his grasp it slipped. "Strange things," he concluded. "I can't remember."

"It was just a dream," Merlin said. "You've had a fever. That always gives you strange dreams."

There was something about that, something about dreams being more than just dreams. But no, Arthur's mind just wouldn't let him put his finger on it. His head felt as if it was filled with wool.

"You're in my bed," he observed.

"Ehr ... Yes."

It was dark. Was Merlin blushing? His cheek was warm under Arthur's fingers._ Arthur's hand was still on Merlin's cheek_. Arthur quickly pulled it away when he realised.

"I was waiting for you to wake up," Merlin said, pretending he didn't notice.

Arthur shifted a bit and felt his leg protest.

"We were in the forest," he recalled. "We were on a hunting trip. What happened?"

"You got bitten," Merlin said. "You were bitten by a snake and you didn't tell anyone. Stubborn idiot."

Arthur frowned.

"I don't remember a snake."

He remembered something about hurting his leg, but he thought he would recall seeing a snake. He wasn't particularly fond of snakes, especially not since that incident with Sir Valiant's enchanted shield.

"Well, there was one," Merlin said. "Maybe you didn't see it either, but trust me, it was there. The state of your leg when you fell off the horse and we noticed what was wrong was proof of that."

His leg. Arthur could almost feel the snake slithering up it now, and although he knew full well he was only imagining it the rush of adrenaline, combined with the sudden worry about the state of his leg, shook some of the mist from his head. He sat up and pulled the foot end of the covers up to look at the leg in question. Beside him, Merlin sat up too.

"It doesn't look that bad," Arthur said. The dark probably took away some of the effect, he supposed, but all he could see was some slight swelling.

"Alice treated you when we got back. It was much worse, trust me. You were ... for a while I thought you were dying. That's why I didn't want to leave you before you woke up."

Arthur pulled the covers back down over his feet. They had already begun to get cold.

"Were you worried about me?"

He meant neither to sound teasing nor desperate. He just meant to make conversation in what was, to him, a quite awkward situation. Instead he got a pillow over the head.

"What do you think?" Merlin hissed, quietly as if he expected there to be people listening outside the door. "_Of course_ I was worried, you prat!"

Silence settled between them for a moment.

"It's freezing in here," Arthur said.

Merlin looked surprised, and turned to look around the room as if the cold was something he could see.

"It was warm when I fell asleep," he said.

"How long have you been in here?" Arthur asked.

Merlin shrugged and pulled the blanket tighter over his shoulder, as if Arthur's remark about the temperature had made him feel it.

"Since noon? Or a few hours after noon, maybe."

Arthur blinked.

"How long have _I_ been in here?"

"You lost consciousness yesterday evening," Merlin said. Then he looked at the moon that was shining in through the window and added: "or maybe that's the day before yesterday, now."

"You rode all the way back and I didn't even wake up?"

"No. Yes. I mean, no, you didn't. Not properly anyway."

Arthur shivered.

"Can't you light a fire from here?" he asked.

Merlin looked a bit surprised, still not used to being asked to use magic. For a moment Arthur wondered if he was going to be shy about it, but Merlin shook himself and whispered something in that old language that Arthur, on his part, still hadn't got used to either. A bunch of logs flew from the basket into the fireplace and caught fire, sending faint orange light and black shadows dancing across the opposite wall. Arthur pulled the covers as high as they would go, waiting for the warmth to spread, but Merlin's weight on the covers still stopped him. This time Merlin noticed, and began to move.

"I should probably go back to my room," he said, and stood up.

"Don't leave!" Arthur said. A small part of his mind told him he wasn't thinking straight, but he would just have to blame it on all that wool in his head. "It's the middle of the night. You've already slept here half the night. Stay."

Merlin looked at him. He wasn't exactly frowning, but there was a tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows, the one that meant he was concentrating really hard on something.

"I'm ill, remember?" Arthur said, moving his foot under the covers to make his point. "You should watch over me."

It was his best spoilt-little-prince-act, and he knew Merlin would recognise that right away, but Arthur didn't know what other card he could play to keep Merlin from leaving.

Merlin studied him a while longer, and something other than the cold made Arthur shudder. Then suddenly Merlin put down the blanket, pushed aside the covers on his side of the bed, sat down and began to remove first his jacket and then his tunic. The blue moonlight made his skin almost glisten, like something made of ivory and dragon flies' wings. His trousers had slid down a bit and revealed a thin trail of black hair. Arthur felt his mouth go dry. This wasn't what he'd meant when he'd asked Merlin to stay.

Merlin looked over at him. The corners of his mouth twitched.

"Well, if you're well enough to look at me like_ that, _I think I can definitely go back to my own room," he said; and moved as if he was about to get up again.

"Oh come on!" Arthur blurted out. He almost followed it up with: "That's not fair!" but stopped himself in time.

Merlin looked amused.

"What?" Arthur asked.

"You look like a child who's had his treats taken away."

"I didn't know you were such a tease, Merlin."

Arthur bit his tongue, but the words were already spoken. He turned away.

"You know what," he said, "you probably _should_ go back to your room. Forget about this, forget what I said, I'm still dizzy."

IYîYîYîYI

Merlin had just made up his mind to stay, and here Arthur went and gave him another way out, testing his resolve. He felt his lungs clench again, the anxiety he had felt just moments ago returning. But then the sight of the pitiful look on Arthur's face replaced the doubt with frustration.

"I'm curious," he said, "just how many times are we going to 'forget' about this?"

"As many as it takes," Arthur replied, still looking down at the covers.

"Why?"

Arthur cringed.

"I think I've ... I think we've both put enough strain on this friendship as it is, don't you?"

Merlin could have laughed, if it hadn't been so sad. And he had thought he was the only one who had been blind.

"Well, this is ridiculous," he said and climbed on to the bed and over to where Arthur sat. When Merlin's knee settled between his legs, Arthur almost jumped in surprise. Merlin's heart jumped too, racing wildly at their sudden proximity and the way Arthur's eyes met his. Suddenly he saw nothing but the blue of Arthur's irises. It felt as if it his heart was about to escape through his throat. He tried really hard not to think about the fact that the next words out of his mouth might change his life forever.

"Kiss me," he said.

He almost expected Arthur to make some comment about his bad habit of giving Arthur orders, even though this time the only reason he told Arthur to act was because he wasn't sure he could do it himself. He felt shaky. If he leant forward even the slightest bit he was afraid he'd lose balance completely and topple them both. But Arthur only stared at him, blushed, and then turned his head away again.

"Don't mock me, Merlin. Please."

The short reprieve from Arthur's gaze made Merlin a bit steadier again, and he reached out, grabbed Arthur's chin and forced him to face him.

"I'm not mocking you. I want you to kiss me."

Merlin was surprised himself to hear himself speak – both at the words and at how steady and confident his voice managed to sound when he felt as if he needed ten times more air than usual to speak and wasn't getting it.

Arthur looked nonplussed.

"Why?" he asked.

_Why?_

"I don't know, I ... Because you're alive!"

Arthur frowned at him.

"That's not a very good reason, Merlin."

"Well, it would be a bit gross if you were dead."

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise, and then he looked away again, but this time he was laughing. Merlin felt as if the entire room heaved a big sigh, relaxing – all except that part of his gut that was still clenched in something that wasn't quite fear anymore. He thought he might not have been quite this awake his entire life – everything seemed louder and brighter than normal. He noticed every little change that appeared in Arthur's face when he smiled, every little line that formed at the corners of his eyes, every little tremor of laughter that made his shoulders shake. The flames that danced in the fire reflected in Arthur's eyes, but the room behind Merlin was still cold, and the warmth that radiated from Arthur's body seemed to pull Merlin forward. He suddenly became very aware of his hands and unsure of what to do with them.

He began to ramble in an attempt to clarify what he'd meant.

"I thought you were going to die," he said, "and maybe I would regret not having done this, and then when I began to think you were going to live, I thought – if we both live to be a hundred and don't do this, I'd regret it even more. And I wasn't sure I could do this, but ..."

"Merlin." Arthur's face had gone sombre again, but at least he was looking at Merlin now. "I don't know what you're trying to say."

_That I love you._

"I ..."

This time the air ran out of him completely.

He took a deep breath and tried to begin again, but before he could speak Arthur grabbed his shoulders and looked at him with a stern frown.

"Merlin, you're shaking."

"Well, I'm a little bit terrified," he admitted.

Arthur closed his eyes. In exasperation or in disappointment, Merlin wondered?

"Merlin, you don't have to ..."

"Look, just let me talk!"

But of course, Arthur never could.

"Don't take pity on me, Merlin!" he said.

"I'm taking pity on_ me_!" Merlin reached up and grabbed Arthur's wrists. They seemed almost scalding under his fingers. "Because if I don't ... if I'm not with you, then I'll never be with anyone, I'll never _want _anyone, and I'll walk around this castle alone while you get married to some princess who'll get to be with you all the time and sleep in your bed and I ... I think I'd die."

He wouldn't mind dying right now. Arthur was staring at him and Merlin had to clench his fists around the sheets underneath him to keep himself from running away. The silence was suffocating.

"Well, that's because you're a possessive little prat," Arthur suddenly deadpanned.

"And you're an idiot," Merlin immediately answered, quickly jumping to the relative safety of their familiar taunts.

Arthur looked unimpressed.

"Why am I an idiot in this scenario?"

"Because you didn't just kiss me and stop me from making a fool of myself."

But instead of waiting for a reaction, Merlin leaned forward and shut himself up by kissing Arthur.

It didn't feel anything like that last time.

Oh, it still felt like panic alright. It also felt like fire, like jumping into cool water on a summer's day, and like being punched in the face. It felt as familiar as magic, and at the same time stranger than anything he'd ever done before. It was a clumsy kiss. Their noses bumped, and their teeth, and Arthur's hand came up to grab Merlin's neck so Merlin leant forward – and they both lost balance and fell back onto the bed, crashing into each other.

Arthur began to laugh. His whole body shook under Merlin's, which did funny things to Merlin's stomach. He tasted blood, and brought his fingers to his mouth.

"I think I bit myself," he said

That made Arthur laugh even more, until he took a couple of deep breaths, and the shaking subsided into the slower movement of regular breathing.

"You are absolutely insane, Merlin," he said.

Merlin leant his forehead on Arthur's shoulder and closed his eyes. The smell of Arthur's skin filled his nostrils, the warmth of Arthur's body seeped into his. It was strange – they were touching from head to toe and he still felt he wanted to get closer.

"I know."

Arthur's fingers ran lazily through his hair. It was a nice feeling.

"Are you really going to stay here?" Arthur asked. He didn't sound concerned or afraid anymore, just a bit surprised.

"I thought we'd established that."

"You know ..." Arthur said, struggling with the words a bit, "nothing has to happen. We don't have to do anything."

Merlin was thinking about how best to answer that, when Arthur yawned.

"Doesn't sound like you're up to it anyway," he replied.

"Shut up."

Merlin smiled. He was still holding Arthur's left wrist in his right hand, and when he moved his thumb just so, he could feel Arthur's pulse – Arthur's life. Arthur pressed a kiss to his temple. Merlin raised his head again and looked at him. Arthur seemed to consider something.

"You were there," he said. "In the forest, when I was unconscious. I woke up for a while and you gave me water. Did I dream that?"

"No."

The second kiss worked better – not that that was hard to achieve. Little shivers ran down Merlin's body when he felt Arthur's tongue in his mouth. This wasn't bad. Not bad at all. He could get used to this. Arthur's arm wrapped itself around his waist. Oddly, he felt used to that already. It fit there. Or it would, perfectly, if he moved just a bit.

He had forgotten completely about the reason they had ended up here when he accidentally kicked Arthur's bad leg and Arthur gave a little moan of pain. Suddenly Merlin was brought back to the moment. Arthur turned them over until they lay side by side on the bed. Merlin could see the tiredness pulling at his eyelids.

"Sorry," Merlin said.

Arthur looked at him.

"Please tell me I'm not dreaming this either," he mumbled.

"You're not dreaming."

Arthur ran a finger from Merlin's temple to his jaw, light as a feather. Merlin shivered, and pulled the covers up over them.

"You'll feel better in the morning," he said.

Arthur smiled and closed his eyes.

"I don't think I can feel better than this."

Years of treating every conversation with Arthur as a competition made the words escape Merlin's lips before he thought about it:

"Want to bet?"

Arthur's eyes flew open again and gave him a surprised look. Merlin thought he might be blushing and hoped it didn't show in the half-light.

"Are you ever going to stop surprising me, Merlin?"

"No. You'd get bored."

Arthur smiled.

"I love you."

There was a pause. Arthur's eyes had drifted shut again. Merlin wanted to speak, but his lungs and throat didn't seem to obey orders.

Over in the fireplace, something crackled, and the sound was enough to break the spell.

"I love you too."

Arthur didn't react. Maybe he was already asleep. It didn't matter. Merlin could tell him again tomorrow. He knew he didn't have all the time in the world – no one ever has – but in the time he would be given, he knew exactly where he'd be.

IYîYîYîYI

THE END

IYîYîYîYI


	61. THE CREDITS

A LETTER FROM THE AUTHOR

_My Dear Reader,_

_If You have come this far, I want to thank You for Your time and attention. If You are among those who began reading this story about the time when I began publishing it - or even a year after that - I also want to thank You for Your patience, and give You my deepest apologies for all the times I kept You waiting a little bit too long, and all the times I promised updates by "next week" only to be gone for a fortnight or more._

_You might be relieved and/or overjoyed to have finally reached the end of this story. If You are, You should know that BY GOD, so am I._

_If on the other hand, You feel like running off to sob in a corner, You should know that I feel like I might do that too – and You should also know that this is only one kind of end._

_Immediately after this note, there will be an epilogue. At some point, there will be sequels. (Yes, sequels, plural.) Although even put together I doubt they will reach the length that this story did, they will likely be mainly drabble-based, and, really, I shouldn't have to warn you that it might take a while. The first sequel will however be called "In days still left", so keep an eye out for that sometime next year._

_Also I can tell you now that "Winter Solstice" is part of this verse, so that's a sequel right there in all its christmasy fluffiness.  
><em>

_There will also be other stories that I have been writing parallel with this, but haven't begun to publish because BY GOD, I was GOING to finish this first. There will, in time, be Arthur/Gwaine, and comedy (attempts at) and AU, and genderswap, and even *gasp* smut. There might even be other fandoms! As for Merthur, that WW2-fic I told you about ages ago is still in the pipeline._

_For now, let me just say this:_

_Three years and 44 days ago, I had given up the idea of writing. I had decided it wasn't for me. I hadn't written a page of fiction in years. I had never finished a story longer than five or six pages A4, although I had begun on many, in my early teens. Then Merlin came into my life, and as I watched the second season while I was living in the UK, I saw the cliff-hanger of "The Beauty and the Beast", and I thought "damn it all, I have to write how this ends or I'll go crazy". So I did. I stayed up until four that night, but I wrote it - and I published it, as "The Once and Future Prat". And once I'd done that, I thought, maybe I should have a go at writing how I wanted the whole story to go, too? So eventually I began what I now only call "Horses" (because I never really bonded with the title) and here we are, more than 125 000 words later (excluding the A/Ns). I have a hard drive full of fanfiction in different stages of progress, several finished and published one-shots, an inbox full of lovely, lovely reviews from all you wonderful people, and a heart full of hope at the knowledge that even if I never publish a single thing commercially, I can still stand straight and call myself a writer._

_So, my dear Reader, wherever or whoever You are: thank You. In a small but important way, You have changed my life._

_Yours Truly,_

_Queen M_

* * *

><p><span>PLAYLIST<span>

The songs quoted in this fic can be found in a public playlist on Spotify called "All the King's Horses". I have put up a link on my profile if anyone's interested. If you don't have Spotify, the songs are as follows (note that some of these songs are only quoted in the edited, yet-to-be-published versions of the fic, and also that some songs have appeared more than once):

"Humpty Dumpty" by Aimee Mann

"Hamburg Song" by Keane

"Sacrifice" by Elton John

"Rumour Has It" by Adele

"Famous Blue Raincoat" by Leonard Cohen

"Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own" by U2

"Seven Devils" by Florence + The Machine

"God of Wine" by Third Eye Blind

"Sunday Bloody Sunday" by U2

"I Met up With the King" by First Aid Kit

"Brilliant Disguise" by Bruce Springsteen

"Everybody Knows" by Leonard Cohen

"Animal" by Neon Trees

"Were You Ever Really Mine" by Marit Bergman

"Bridge Over Troubled Water" by Simon & Garfunkel

"Funny How Time Slips Away" by Willie Nelson*

"This Love Affair" by Rufus Wainwright

"Lead Me Into the Night" by The Cardigans

"For What It's Worth" by The Cardigans

"Imaginary Love" by Rufus Wainwright

"It's About to Get Worse" by I Blame Coco

"I'm Not Calling You A Liar" by Florence + The Machine

"Please Sister" by The Cardigans

"Fistful of Love" by Antony & The Johnsons

"Simple Together" by Alanis Morissette

"In the Air Tonight" by Phil Collins

"Many of Horror" by Biffy Clyro

"Have a Little Faith in Me" by John Hiatt*

"Real Bad News" by Aimee Mann

"Little Dysfunk You" by The Ark

"Both Sides Now" by Joni Mitchell

"The Couch" by Alanis Morissette

"Sigh No More" by Mumford & Sons

"Calleth You, Cometh I" by The Ark

"Forget Her" by Jeff Buckley

"Brothers In Arms" by Dire Straits

"Someone Like You" by Adele

"Remain Nameless" by Florence + The Machine

"The Fear" by Lily Allen

"Parenting Never Ends" by Hello Saferide

"Visit to Vienna" by Sahara Hotnights

"She Will Be Loved" by Maroon 5

"Stronger Than Jesus" by A Camp

"Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen

"Forever Doesn't Live Here Anymore" by Marit Bergman

"All the King's Horses" by Aretha Franklin*

"Happy Ending" by MIKA

"The Consort" by Rufus Wainwright

"Little Wonders" by Rob Thomas

"Some Die Young" by Laleh

"Ain't No Cure For Love" by Leonard Cohen

"It's Getting Better" by Mama Cass

"You Are My Sister" by Antony & The Johnsons

* = _I'm not entirely sure this is the original artist _


	62. Epilogue: What the Witch Saw

"_We felt so differently then  
>So similar over the years<br>They way we loved, the way we experienced pain  
>So many memoires there's nothing left to gain from remembering<br>Faces and places no one else will ever know"_

**- Antony and The Johnsons, **_**You Are My Sister**_

IYîYîYîYI

**Epilogue**

**What the Witch Saw**

She kept seeing it, over and over: faded, fragmented repetitions of that first terrifying vision that had hit her when she and Mordred had landed deep in the forests after spiriting themselves away from the battlefield, away from Merlin, Arthur and the little girl, away from Morgause's dead body. She saw the overgrown ruins of Camelot and felt hollow inside; she saw the world spinning at a dazzling speed around her and woke up with her heart racing; she saw the cave and woke up because she couldn't breathe – and time and time again she saw the blood on the blade and woke up with tears in her eyes that were part her own, part someone else's.

It hadn't been the first time Morgana had had a vision while awake, it had happened to her more and more often in the time leading up to that day, but it had never knocked her out, neither physically nor mentally, like this one had.

"What did you see?" Mordred had asked he when she came to, screaming.

"Merlin," was all she'd been able to say.

But Mordred hadn't understood. How could he?

"He'll pay, Morgana. He's a traitor and a hypocrite and he'll pay."

"Yes," she had said, unable to stop the tears that must have begun to fall from her eyes while she was lost in the vision. "Yes, he will."

IYîYîYîYI

Weeks, maybe months later, Mordred left her, saying that if she wouldn't help him he'd find someone who would. By then, she no longer cared.

That horrible, haunting vision seemed to have changed the very nature of her abilities. It was as if someone had pulled the cork out of a bottle. The visions came as often during the day as during the night now. Sometimes she had difficulties keeping track of what had happened, what was happening at the moment and what had yet to take place. It felt as if she was sleepwalking, waking up not just in strange places but in strange times.

During one of her lucid periods, she had undertaken her final journey into Camelot, donning the plain face of the handmaiden her sister had impersonated before her. She had done it for Gwen. Sweet little Gwen who had thrown all her loyalty to Morgana aside for the chance to marry Arthur, for the chance to wear the crown they had both always assumed would be Morgana's, when Morgana knew how she had lusted over Lancelot. Why shouldn't Morgana let her have the man she wanted?

She had known that if they both managed to escape execution she would have done them a favour rather than a disservice in the end. But that didn't matter anymore either. Either way, Gwen would have tumbled from the pedestal Arthur had put her on, and the crown would have tumbled from Gwen's sweet little head. Morgana had seen the future, and there was no Queen Guinevere in it.

IYîYîYîYI

Time passed in ebbs and flows for her now. Days could feel like months, years could feel like weeks. She saw them, now and then – her brother by blood and her brother by magic – riding through her part of the forest. They never noticed her, never seemed aware of her presence. She melted into the background now, the trees and the rocks and the moss. Sometimes they would pass through on their way to some diplomatic visit, dressed up, moving quickly on the highway. Other times they would creep around in the bushes on one of Arthur's silly hunting trips. That is, Arthur crept – Merlin walked. Merlin didn't hunt. She respected him for that.

Once she saw the two of them, separated from the hunting party that must have been around somewhere if Arthur's bow and arrows were anything to go by. They were laughing and smiling, and they were in each other's arms. She hid in the shadows, so close that she could listen to their soft, fond whispers, close enough to watch the peace in Merlin's blue eyes, the smile on Arthur's face – a blissful smile that conjured up memories of childhood games comically incongruous with the decidedly adult game unfolding before her. She wondered if she ought to turn her head and give them their privacy, but if they didn't know that they weren't alone then it couldn't hurt them, and she didn't feel that there was anything very improper in the way she watched them. If she had to live through all their future grieves and agonies in her dreams and her visions, surely she was entitled to witness some of their happiness as well – to be reminded of the existence of such emotions.

They lay on the forest floor, in the sunlight, while she stood in the dark. Arthur's hands were hidden under Merlin's clothes, Merlin's hands tangled in Arthur's hair.

She realised that she was smiling about the same time she realised she was crying. She felt the urge to approach them, to talk to them. She wanted to beg of them to accept her back, to let her have a place again, a place in the sunlight, and just a little bit of that happiness – but that was pointless. She wanted to tell them what she knew, to warn them, to prepare them. But that would be throwing her own burden upon people who could do no more about it than she could. The burden would not turn any lighter for her. All she would achieve would be to wipe those smiles off their faces and that peace off their minds for no reason at all. That would be cruel, and she no longer had any desire to be cruel to Merlin, and she couldn't even remember why she had ever wanted to be cruel to Arthur. Let misery strike no sooner than it must – when it did, she would be there. She had promised Arthur as much, even if he didn't remember it.

But if her torn and tattered sense of time was to be trusted, it would be a long time before she would be held to that promise. For now, she'd keep her peace. For now, she would hide in the shadows. She might be haunted by the end of the story, but the men in the glade, unaware of her presence, were still only at the beginning. There were golden days to come.

IYîYîYîYI

* * *

><p><span>The last AN: _And now I go off to sleep. For, like, a week. And possibly cry. And then finally watch Series 5. So still no spoilers, please._


End file.
